


The Lost Adventures

by dragonmactir



Series: The Return [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 20,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmactir/pseuds/dragonmactir
Summary: Prequel to Dragon Age: Origins and my own work, The Return.  What really happened those two years when Loghain was supposedly on the high seas looking for lost King Maric.  Has never been edited -- yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Antiva City, The Docks, Midnight**

 

A warm rain fell softly. Big black boots, leather sides caving in with age and hard wear, stomped down a rotting gangplank.  A big hand reached out from beneath a black cloak and deposited a pouch of coins in the hand of the ship’s captain.

 

“Do just as I told you,” a low, growling voice said. All that could be seen of the man beneath the deep hood of his cloak was the tip of a long, pinched, and rather crooked nose.

 

The captain touched the brim of his hat respectfully. “Just as you say, Yer Grace.  The letters will be posted reg’lar, at each new port a’ call.”

 

The pouch of coins disappeared into the captain’s coat and the big hand momentarily clasped his. Then the captain went back up the gangplank and the big man in the cloak walked on, up the dock to another man, tall but smaller and similarly attired, who waited on the shore.

 

“You came at last,” the smaller man said. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t.”

 

“I almost didn’t.”

 

The smaller man held one hand out to shake. The larger man merely stopped walking.  A cold silence stretched between them, and the smaller man pulled his hand back.  “All right, no handshake, then.”

 

The larger man walked on, and brushed past the smaller man rather brusquely. “People are worried about you.”

 

“I know. I am sorry, but this is the way it has to be.  I made a promise and I must keep it.  And you made a promise, too.”

 

“I? I remember making no promise.”

 

“I wrote to you and asked you, as a friend and a brother, to speak the truth to no one. I trusted you.”

 

“Relax. Everyone thinks you’re lost at sea, and everyone thinks _I’m_ spending the royal treasury dry trying to find you.”

 

A sigh of relief. “Thank you, my friend.  Now, how about that handshake?”  He held out his hand again.

 

The larger man stopped, half-turned, and looked at the hand. Then he turned back and continued walking.  The smaller man spread his arms wide.

 

“A hug, then. Can I at least get a hug?”


	2. Chapter 2

Two tall men strolled through the Antivan capital. It had stopped raining, and the larger of the two men pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a shaggy head of thick, black hair framing a narrow, pale, hatchet-carved face.  A moment’s hesitation, and the other man followed suit.  His face couldn’t be more different, broad and regular and handsome, framed with long, golden hair.

 

The early morning markets were beginning to bustle. Restaurateurs argued with greengrocers over the freshest vegetables, homemakers manhandled the rinds of various melons, testing for ripeness, and all around was a rapid-fire gabble of Antivan from which their untrained ears could barely discern individual words.

 

“So, I’m here. Now will you tell me what the big mystery is, Maric?” the larger man said.

 

“Don’t use my name,” Maric said.

 

“What am I supposed to call you, then?”

 

“I came up with new identities for both of us. I’m Mario, and you’re Luigi.  We’re brothers from the north of Antiva.”

 

“You idiot. We can’t pretend we’re locals.  We shouldn’t try and pretend we’re anything but what we _are_ : Fereldans.”

 

“And why is that, if I may ask?”

 

“Well first of all, I don’t speak Antivan. Secondly, we both speak with pronounced Fereldan accents.  Thirdly, we’re not initiated into Antivan culture and finally, we bloody _look_ Fereldan.”

 

“What do you mean we ‘look Fereldan?’” Maric asked.

 

“Luigi” rolled his cold blue eyes. He stepped out right into the middle of the busy market street and flung his arms out wide.  Unconcerned with this crazy foreigner, the locals simply continued their business, walking under his outstretched arms.  “Let’s start with the height thing, shall we?”

 

“Hmm. You may have a point at that.  All right, then, you’re the great strategist.  How would _you_ go incognito?”

 

“Stick as close to the truth as possible. We’re Fereldans, here on business.  The less complicated the lie, the less likely you’ll screw it up.”

 

“I notice you say _‘you’ll’_ screw it up, not _‘we’ll’_ screw it up,” Maric said.  Blue eyes just stared at him for a long moment.  Once Maric’s eyes faltered, blue eyes finally looked away and the big man turned around and walked on.


	3. Chapter 3

“There any meat in this pot pie, or just spices?” Loghain said, as he spit a half-chewed wad of food into his napkin.

 

“Oh come, Loghain - Antivan food is world-famous. You can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

 

“I can and I shall. And don’t you mean ‘Luigi?’”

 

“All right, I confess; I let myself get a little too enthusiastic about the idea of operating undercover. It was a foolish plan.  Thank you, Loghain, for setting me straight, as always.”

 

“Where would you be, Maric, if I weren’t around to set you straight?”

 

Maric leaned forward and steepled his hands together on the tabletop. “Are you ready to hear what I need from you, now?” he asked intently.

 

Loghain chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve been ready since the boat pulled in, Maric.  It’s _you_ who insist upon beating ‘round the bush.”

 

“Well the truth is, I’m on a quest.”

 

Loghain rolled his eyes. “So, what else is new?”

 

“Well, this is a bit different than usual. This time I’m after an artifact, an ancient relic.  Of _Arlathan.”_

 

Loghain stared at his friend and sovereign for a long moment, and then he burst out laughing. “Arlathan?  Maker’s ass, Maric - why don’t you just go off looking for Andraste’s holy ashes, while you’re at it?”

 

“Loghain, I’m serious. I know where it is and everything.  It’s just going to take some legwork to activate it, is all.”

 

“Activate it. For that blasted _witch?”_ Loghain said.  Maric nodded.  Loghain swore.

 

“I promised, Loghain. I promised I would do what she told me to do, once she’d told me to do it.  I have to fulfill my promise.”

 

 _“Bollocks,”_ Loghain spat.  “You don’t keep promises to creatures like that. _Come home,_ Maric.”

 

“Loghain, creatures like that are exactly the sort you _have_ to keep promises to.  They have ways of ensuring it.  Now, can I count on you to stand at my side as always, or will you abandon me?”

 

Loghain stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and clasped the hand Maric offered. “I don’t know how you do it, Maric, but you’ve always had the knack of getting me to ignore all sense and common wisdom.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So, Maric, tell me: how does one go about finding an ancient relic of Arlathan curiously hidden in the _bowels_ of Antiva, and exactly what is entailed in the process of ‘activating’ it?”

 

“Ugh, don’t say ‘bowels,’” Maric said, with a hand on his stomach. “That pot pie is coming back to haunt me.”

 

“Told you. Regardless of intestinal discomfort, please answer my questions.”

 

“Well, first we have to locate the mirror itself - ”

 

Loghain poked Maric in the chest. “Wait a minute - you said you already knew where the bloody thing _is.”_

 

“I do! I do! In a… _general_ sense.  I know it’s within a hundred square miles of Antiva City.  The specifics I’m still a little bit vague on, however.”

 

“Andraste’s tits. A hundred square miles?  And presumably the damned thing is well-hidden or people would know about it.  How exactly are we supposed to find it?”

 

“Ah, and there’s the beauty of it, my friend,” Maric said, with a broad smile. “We find it…by _looking_ for it.”

 

Loghain paused, then sighed and shook his head. “That was a staggeringly brilliant observation, Maric.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Our first order of business is to set up a base of operations. That means lodgings,” Maric said.

 

“I know what it means, Maric. Where have _you_ been staying, all this time?” Loghain asked.

 

“In a flea-ridden inn by the docks, so that I could stand there in the dark and damp night after night, hoping my best friend would come and relieve me of my lonely watch.”

 

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I? Now where do we hole up?”

 

“I’ve done some checking around and I’ve found a lodgings house that’s almost dead-center in our search area; it would make a perfect home base. There is a catch, however; just a small, miniscule obstacle we shall overcome easily enough, with a bit of application.”

 

“Oh, really? And just what is this small, miniscule catch?” Loghain asked.

 

“It’s a ladies’ boarding house.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“It’s no great issue, Loghain. We’ll just curl our hair out, put on some cosmetics, and stuff you in a nice satin gown.  Easy.”

 

“Not if your life depended on it, Maric, and believe me, if you insist upon making the attempt, it _does.”_

 

Maric laughed. “Relax, my friend, I’m only teasing.  I put the old Theirin charm on the woman that runs the place. _The Duenna_ , they call her.  Formidable woman.  Knows things no lady ought to know.  She’ll let us stay.”

 

“‘The Old Theirin Charm,’ eh? I knew it.  We’re bloody screwed.  Well, no matter what you say or do, I’m not wearing a fucking dress.”


	6. Chapter 6

Despite Loghain’s lapse of faith, the old Theirin charm appeared to have some use after all. The Duenna, a large, voluptuous woman with an astonishing head of black hair piled high and held with silver combs, dimpled up like a schoolgirl when she saw Maric, and burst forth with a rapid-fire assault of Antivan.  Finally she dropped the native tongue and continued on in Common:

 

“Mario! How lovely to see you again, my darling boy.  And your friend has arrived, I see.  That is wonderful.  There is always room for another big, strong, handsome _Fereldano_ barbarian under my roof!”

 

Loghain smacked Maric on the arm with the back of his hand. “You told her you were a bloody Antivan, didn’t you?  If she calls me Luigi, I’m out of here.  Just so you know.”

 

Maric blushed and grinned. “Well, _big and strong_ he’s got covered, but I’ll have to supply the handsome, Duenna.  I apologize for the façade, before: just a bit of a lark, practicing my Antivan, you know.  My name is Maric, actually, and my friend’s name is Loghain.”

 

“Oh, no harm, my darling boy. I knew all along that you were only being, how you say, a ‘silly arse?’  I found your little charade quite charming.  But Maric and Loghain, those are two very famous Fereldan names, yes?  The girls shall be thrilled to hear we harbor two so _august_ barbarians,” she said, and laughed as though it were the best joke of the season.  “I will just go and see that your room is ready.  Don’t go bothering my girls, now, you rogues!”

 

Maric led Loghain into what could possibly be termed a “parlor.” A score of young ladies, scantily attired, lounged about in sumptuous splendor on couches and in chairs.  Loghain glanced at them, then back to his friend.

 

“Maric, when you told me this was a boarding facility for young professional women, did you perhaps _deliberately_ leave off telling me just what profession the young women were members of?”

 

“Why, whatever do you mean to insinuate, Loghain?” Maric asked, with much innocent fluttering of his eyelashes.

 

“This is a whorehouse, isn’t it?”

 

“It may be true that the ladies of the house are open to certain activities which, in Ferelden, a proper lady of standing would be adverse to, but it’s not quite the same as a Fereldan brothel.”

 

“Explain to me the difference. You give these ladies coin, they open their legs, correct?”

 

Maric clucked his tongue, eyes closed. “You are so crude.  The _difference,_ my friend, is that these ladies are perfectly free to say ‘no’ when it pleases them.  They are also perfectly free, Loghain, to say ‘yes,’ even when no coin has been exchanged.  And these _ladies,_ Loghain, are positively _delightful_ creatures.”

 

Loghain sighed and rolled his eyes at the King’s naïveté but chose not to remark on it. “Maric, you are such a horn-dog.”

 

“You could stand a little distraction, my friend. Celia has been gone now for some time, and you’ve shown no interest in finding another companion.  You can’t go through life alone and miserable, Loghain, though I know you’d like to.  Perhaps one of these ladies can reignite the spark of life in you, make you realize how unhealthy it is to deny yourself expression of your natural desires.”

 

“Yes, the expression of which has garnered you one bastard son that I am _aware_ of.  I shudder to think how many dim-witted blonds are running loose in Thedas thanks to your _natural desires,_ Maric.”

 

“Oh, ease up. You know, one thing I find odd…I was certain that if we followed your plan of giving our true names, our identities would be known instantly.  But she only laughed.”

 

“We’re dressed as _peasants,_ Maric.  People who’ve known you for _twenty years_ might well look at you now and not know you for the King of Ferelden.”

 

The Duenna came back, and sidled up to Maric. She pressed herself close against his arm and slid a hand across the breadth of his chest.  “Your room has been made ready, Maric, my darling boy, but of course you are welcome to stay this night in _my_ room, if you prefer.”

 

“A courteous guest never passes up a lady’s hospitality,” Maric said, and permitted the vamp to lead him away. Loghain stood shaking his head after him in the entryway to the parlor.

 

“We haven’t been here _five minutes_ and he’s in a woman’s bed.  And that one looks like she’ll eat him alive.”

 

He realized suddenly that he was muttering to himself in front of twenty or so interested prostitutes. When he saw the way they looked at him he began to feel very much like a mouse in a room full of cats.

 

 _“Fereldano muy grande,”_ one of the ladies said, with a little titter.

 

Another lady sidled up to him. She was young, probably barely of age, and looked a trifle shy, though doubtless that was simply an act used to appeal to those looking to bespoil innocence.  “I will show you to your room, if you wish,” she said, in a soft, musical voice.

 

“And I will show you to _mine,_ if you prefer, _hombre,”_ another, bawdier lady said.

 

Loghain backed away quickly. In turning, he slammed face-first into a hat stand.  “Excuse me, I…I’ll just go to my room, now,” he said, and hoped he didn’t look quite as great a fool as he felt.


	7. Chapter 7

Maric came down to the breakfast table the next morning in a bright, sunshiny mood, whistling. He caught sight of Loghain’s face and did a double-take.

 

“Maker’s breath, who socked you?” he asked.

 

“Coat rack,” Loghain said, and turned his attention back to his sausages. His right eye was black and blue and swollen almost completely shut.  Maric looked at Loghain, then at the hat stand he could see clearly through the parlor door, and then back to Loghain.  He drew up a chair and sat down.

 

“Ten thousand Chevaliers can’t lay a glove on you, and you get beat up by a coat rack?” he said. Loghain grunted.

 

“Coat rack was a better fighter.”

 

“You know, you really ought to put some ice on that,” Maric said.

 

“I asked the Duenna for some. She gave me a very blank stare.  That was when I realized for the first time, truthfully, that I am in Antiva…where they do not know what ice _is.”_

 

Maric ate his eggs and toast. When he finished he reached into his pack and pulled out a folded map.

 

“Here. Figured you’d want a look at this.”

 

Loghain shoved his plate aside and spread the map out on the tabletop. He weighted down the edges with his unused spoon and knife.  The map showed the whole of Antiva, and was ornately decorated with local flora and fauna.  Loghain glanced at it and sighed.  “Do you have any six-inch maps?” he asked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Six-inch maps. Six inches-to-the-mile maps.  Survey Ordinance maps.  Up-close, personal, highly-detailed area maps of the specific region we’re searching?”

 

“Well no, I don’t have anything like that. I’ve never known you to _need_ any such thing before,” Maric said.

 

“That’s because I _know_ Ferelden,” Loghain said.  “I can look at a map of her and tell you anything you want to know about any part of her.  But I’ve never been _out_ of Ferelden before - a streak I would have quite happily left unbroken, thank you - and I know Antiva not at all.  This map is very pretty but it tells me nothing of intrinsic value.”

 

“I don’t even know where to _get_ a six-inch map,” Maric said, baffled.  Loghain sighed.

 

The Duenna came in with more sausage, eggs, and toast for both men. Loghain looked up at her and asked, “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t happen to have any six-inch Survey Ordinance maps of the region laying about somewhere, would you, Ma’am?”

 

She looked at him for a moment, hand on her hip, then jerked her head. “Follow.”

 

Maric looked at Loghain and Loghain looked at Maric. Maric shrugged, and both men rose to follow the Madam into the parlor, where a tall bookcase stood against the back wall, behind two couches on which lounged young women.  “Usually, I not show this to anyone not associated with me,” she said, “but you are the friend of my darling Maric so I make exception this time.  Just no snooping, or I cut you balls off, _comprende?”_

 

She reached for the shelves and tilted a red leather-bound volume. With a well-oiled whoosh, the bookcase parted into two sections, revealing a hidden room.  The _real_ bookshelves were here, stacked high with legal ledgers and books on political reform and military strategy.  Maps covered every wall and available surface, or spilled out of umbrella stands.

 

“Andraste’s ass,” Maric said. “It’s like stepping into your study, Loghain.”

 

The Duenna pulled a huge atlas from a low shelf and plonked it down on the desk. “You find what you look for in here,” she said.  “Remember what I say, and don’t snoop.”

 

“I am bursting with curiosity, Madam, but for the sake of gratitude and self-preservation, you have my word: no snooping,” Loghain said.

 

“Good man. You read you maps; I bring you breakfast in here.”


	8. Chapter 8

Loghain and Maric walked back to the city later that evening. Maric let Loghain take the lead, and followed the man as he navigated unerringly the winding, tortuous, poorly-marked streets of the sprawling Antiva City.  His time closeted with the Duenna’s maps seemed to have paid off.

 

“Why can’t people use a little foresight when settling a region?” Loghain said as they walked. “How difficult is it to think that if a settlement takes root it is going to grow, and to plan accordingly?  A nice, even grid plan, wide streets…it would make dealing with a congested population so much easier.”

 

“I’ll bring it up next time I found a city,” Maric said.

 

“You realize, I hope, that your Duenna is some sort of spy?” Loghain said.

 

“She’s not _my_ Duenna.  But yes, I guess she must be.”

 

“We’ll have to watch her. If she knows or figures out that you _are_ Maric Theirin, Fereldan national security could be greatly compromised.  Not to mention your own, _personal_ security.”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t immediately insist upon rooming elsewhere.”

 

“People like her can be useful, if you manage not to get played.”

 

“So where are we heading?” Maric said.

 

“The Hall of History. Perhaps one of the scholars there can help us narrow down our searching parameters.”

 

“The Hall of _what?”_ Maric asked.  Loghain sighed.

 

“You’ve been here for weeks, Maric. You found the whorehouses but missed the _museums?”_

 

“Hey, I don’t have your head for maps. I scouted the city but I felt a trifle over-exposed without my aegis, so I sent for you and waited.”

 

“Well thank the Maker I’m here now,” Loghain said. “With a little luck, we may get this quest of yours finished sometime before the Age ends.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Whoa, is that really the crown of Nevarra’s Queen Rhadhama’at, or just a replica, do you think?” Maric asked, as he peered in at a tall golden crown that looked, in Loghain’s opinion, like a ninepin.

 

“You’re awfully bloody interested in crowns for a man who barely wanted his own,” Loghain said. “We’re not here to play tourist so stay focused, all right?”  He did a double-take.  “Whoa, is that _really_ Garahel’s sword?”

 

“Loghain. Focus,” Maric said, grinning.  “That weedy chap over there looks like a scholar.”

 

“You’re the talker - talk to him.”

 

“What do I ask him?”

 

“Elven artifacts,” Loghain said. “Ask if he knows of any, or knows any local legends about them.”

 

Maric walked up to the suspected scholar. The man saw them coming and curled his lip. _“Fereldanos,”_ he said in a mutter, and then, “May I help you… _gentlemen?”_

 

Maric explained what they were looking for. The man looked from one to the other of them with the wide-eyed anxiety of a man looking at people suspected of being violently insane.  “I know of no magic mirrors,” he said, “but there are a number of little-explored ruins in the area, some of which have legends associated with them.  Three of them are supposedly guarded by a mythic creature called a Varterral.  They were supposed to have some connection to the ancient elves.  Perhaps if you were to track down one of these beasts you might find what you seek?”

 

Loghain pulled Maric’s fancy map of Antiva from his pocket and unfolded it. “If you could mark the location of these ruins down for me, that would be most appreciated,” he said.  Eager to be rid of his barbarian relic hunters, the scholar swiftly scrawled a number of Xs on the map with a dwarven fountain pen he took from a pocket of his robes.  He circled three of them.

 

“Those are the ruins that are supposedly guarded by the Varterral,” he said. “I have been to all of them, however, and saw no sign of any such creature, _or_ any magic mirrors.”

 

“Well, perhaps we’ll have better luck,” Maric said.

 

“Wait a minute, before you go talking about ‘luck,’” Loghain said. “Just what sort of creature is this Varterral supposed to be?”

 

“The type that wouldn’t mind chewing on a couple of thick-bodied Fereldans,” the scholar said, with an unpleasant grin.


	10. Chapter 10

Loghain and Maric went to a nearby tavern to speak over what they’d learned and set an itinerary while they cooled their throats.

 

“This country is confoundedly hot,” Loghain said.

 

“You need a dose of sulfur and molasses,” Maric said. “Fix you right up.”

 

“Who are you, my mother?”

 

 _“Someone_ had to pick up where she left off,” Maric said, and downed his ale.  “So, what do you think?”

 

Loghain unfolded the map and spread it out on the bar before him. “You say the Tevinter Imperium used these mirrors to communicate long-distance,” he said, “so I think we should start with these ruins here.  They’re Tevinter, so they seem like our best chance.  After that, we check out these ruins that are connected to the Varterral legend, just in case.  If there’s no luck there then I suppose we make a sweep of the other ruins in the area just to be certain, but honestly, how a bloody mirror could survive ages and ages in a wrecked building undiscovered and _unbroken_ is beyond me.”

 

Maric reached over and tweaked his nose. “It’s a _magic_ mirror, Loghain,” he said, with a smile.  “But you have a fair point.  Perhaps its hidden in some way, maybe even masked with some sort of magic spell.  How are we going to find it if _that’s_ the case?”

 

“Maybe we ought to ask for assistance at the local Circle,” Loghain said, with a scowl. “It would probably mean telling the Knight-Commander who you are.”

 

“Templars don’t get about much more than mages do, so most likely it would be safe enough to do so.”

 

A local, big and burly by the average standards of Antiva, poked Maric in the back. _“Fereldanos._ You’re not welcome in our bar.”

 

Loghain folded up the map. “Let’s just go,” he said to Maric.  Maric held up a forestalling hand.

 

“Now wait just a moment. There’s no cause for unpleasantness here.  We’re simply thirsty travelers; surely you’d not begrudge us a drop of this fine ale?”

 

The Antivan was clearly not much for talking. He took a swing at Maric that grazed his jaw.  Maric staggered back, then stepped up and took a swing at his attacker.  Suddenly the entire tavern, it seemed, was on its feet, and no one seemed to feel any sympathy for the foreigners.  Loghain rolled his eyes, swallowed down his ale at a gulp, and clocked the nearest Antivan over the head with the heavy tankard.  The fight was on.


	11. Chapter 11

Maric stood at the cell doors, his face pressed to the cool iron bars. He had a purple bruise high on one cheek and his hair was awry.  “This…isn’t good,” he said.

 

Loghain sat on the floor of the cell behind him, hands dangling between his knees. He looked up at his friend, and now _both_ eyes were black and swollen nearly shut.  “I don’t know, Maric,” he said, “you think so?”

 

“They can’t _really_ hang us, can they?” Maric asked.  “I mean, it was self-defense.”

 

“We’re Fereldans; they’ll do as they please with us,” Loghain said. “And in all fairness, we did kill twelve men between us.”

 

“You killed more of them than _I_ did,” Maric said, as he turned to lean back against the cell door.  “Besides, what else could we do?  They came at us with weapons out, we had to draw swords.”

 

“Yes, well, as I said before, we’re _Fereldans_.  Perhaps you haven’t noticed, Maric, since in your world everyone is the very best of friends and we all get along swimmingly, but there’s a lot of prejudice against Fereldans.  Then, too, it’s hard to credit a plea of self-defense when you beat the stuffing out of your attackers and render most of them incapable of testifying.  The ones we left breathing will almost surely say we started the whole brawl.”

 

Loghain sighed and put his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into surrendering my weapons when the guard showed up.  We should have just fought our way out.”

 

“Those guards were just men doing their jobs,” Maric said. “I don’t want some child to hear his father won’t be coming home because he was killed in the line of duty.”

 

Loghain snorted. _“Our_ children are soon to be hearing something along those lines, Maric, in case you’ve forgotten what the magistrate said.”

 

“Our children are grown,” Maric said, and squatted down.

 

 _“My_ child is grown. _Your_ child is still playing with tin soldiers, although now he’s got his hands on a real live army, which scares the bloody hell out of  me.  And I think you need to know that part of the reason I was late in answering your peremptory summons was that I was forced to put up quite the battle to get Cailan installed as provisional King.  Most of the Landsmeet wanted _Bryce Cousland_ to stand in your stead.”

 

“Thank you for trusting Cailan enough to go to battle for him,” Maric said.

 

“I _don’t_ trust Cailan, I trust _Anora_.  That boy got all of the silly-ass in you, and none of the leader.”

 

Maric studied his interlaced fingers for a long moment, then looked up at his friend. “How do we get out of here?” he asked.

 

“I expect we’ll have to tell the magistrate who we are. Talk about your diplomatic incidents.  This isn’t going to do a thing to improve the image of the _Fereldan Barbarian_ for the rest of Thedas.  You’ll be known ever after as the Brawling King.”

 

“What about you? Won’t you be the _Brawling Teyrn?”_ Maric asked.

 

“I’m already known by that and worse. What I’m truly worried about is finding someone who’ll believe we really are who we say we are, preferably _before_ they put our necks in nooses.”

 

“Yeah. That…might be tough.”

 

Maric was silent for a moment, and then said, “I know the situation is pretty grim, with imminent threat of death and all, but you’ve got to admit, you and me, fighting back to back…it was just like old times, wasn’t it?”

 

Loghain scowled, then, reluctantly, smiled. “That was a damned good fight.”


	12. Chapter 12

The next time someone came to their cell, it was a guard with the keys.

 

“You get lucky,” he said as he unlocked the door. “Senor Cacioppo wants to see you both.  You not get hanged - _this_ time.”

 

“Who’s Senor Cacioppo?” Maric asked, in a whisper.

 

“Beats me,” Loghain said. “I suppose we’re going to find out.”

 

The guard took them from the depths of the dungeon to the front doors of the Palace of Justice, where they were loaded into a closed carriage by a quartet of grim-faced servants in livery. The servants had wicked-looking blades tucked in their sashes, testifying to the dearth of wisdom in defying them.  They pulled blindfolds out of their back pockets and tied them over Maric and Loghain’s eyes.

 

“You not take off, or we kill you,” one of them said, and tugged the knot on Loghain’s blindfold extra tight for emphasis.

 

“This is interesting,” Maric said, as the carriage was closed up and they were locked into darkness.

 

“That’s not the word I’d have chosen,” Loghain said. “I wonder where they’re taking us?”

 

The carriage started to move. “Can you do your…you know… _blindfold_ trick?” Maric asked.

 

“Possibly. Keep quiet and let me concentrate.”

 

Silence reigned without and within, except for the rumble of the wheels on cobblestones and the steady clop of the horse’s hooves. Finally, after many twists and turns, the carriage slowed to a stop.

 

“Do you know where we are?” Maric whispered.

 

“Somewhere on the docks. The warehouse district.”

 

The carriage door opened, and a strong smell of salt water and fish wafted in on the breeze.

 

“You are amazing, you know that?” Maric said admiringly. They were pulled out of the carriage and hustled along by their silent captors.  The stone beneath their feet changed to wood planking as they were led still blindfolded into some sort of structure.

 

“So this is them?” a voice said. “You know, you boys killed a lot a’ my guys.  Anybody else, they be dead right now, but you?  I got a special proposition for you.  Sit ‘em down, take those blindfolds off ‘em.  An’ get ‘em something to drink.”

 

They were pushed roughly into chairs, and the blindfolds stripped off. They were in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, with glassless clerestory windows and rotting roof beams.  The chairs they sat in were of fine mahogany wood and rich velvet upholstery.  The desk in front of them was teak, and looked expensive.  Behind the desk sat a round-faced little man who looked like nothing so much as a treasury agent, the type that sat at a desk all day making up ledger sheets and account books.

 

Glasses were shoved into their hands. The liquid in the clear crystal goblets appeared to be high-quality Antivan brandy.  Loghain eyed it suspiciously.  “Don’t drink it,” he said to Maric in an aside.

 

“You think I put poison in it? No no.  If I want to kill you I not be so subtle about it, no?  I make it look nice an’ messy, so no one else get any big ideas about going up against my boys.  But the thing is, you _Fereldanos_ have left me shorthanded.  I got a lot a’ jobs need doin’, and nobody to be doin’ ‘em, _comprende?”_

 

“So, you’re hiring?” Maric said brightly. Loghain elbowed him hard in the ribs.

 

“In a sense. You see, my boys are well-trained.  They’re good at what they do, and they love to do it.  When a couple a’ jokers like you show up an’ put the hurt on a whole bunch of ‘em, I sit up an’ take notice.  So what’s gonna happen here is, I’m gonna forget this whole nasty business an’ leave the two a’ you alone…provided you do a couple a’ jobs for me, just to pick up the slack ‘til I can get me some new guys.  Simple, no?”

 

“What sort of jobs are we talking about?” Maric asked. Loghain snorted.

 

“Think about it,” he said. “We’re in Antiva, aren’t we?  Apparently some of those fools we killed were Crows.”

 

Maric blinked in surprise. “You’re an _assassin?”_ he asked the man.

 

“Think of me as a supervisor,” the man said. _“You_ the ones gonna be doin’ the work.”

 

“No. Absolutely not,” Maric said.  He started up out of his chair but a hard hand pushed him back down.

 

“How many jobs are we talking about?” Loghain asked. “I’ll not be strung along forever.”

 

“Ah, a practical man. I like that sort, they so much easier to work with than the idealistic type.  You killed eight a’ my guys, so let’s say eight jobs.”

 

“Firm,” Loghain said. “No ‘just one more’s after all is said and done.  We pay up and we’re square, you leave us alone.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Maric stared hard at Loghain. “You can’t be serious.  You want to kill _eight people_ for this monster?”

 

“It’s that or die, Maric. I’m not too keen on the idea of dying in Antiva.”

 

“So we have a deal, then?” the man, Senor Cacioppo presumably, said. “I send the contracts ‘round to where you stay when the time for each job rolls ‘round.  The Duenna an’ me, we got a history, you know?  She like you two, so I take it _easy_ on you.  Treat you square.”

 

“Deal. Can we go, now?” Loghain said.

 

“Sure, sure. I have my boys take you an’ drop you off.  But we gotta keep things a bit secret, no?  So they not gonna drop you off at you place.  You can find you way home from where they take you.”

 

The blindfolds were pulled back down. “This is rather tiresome. _And_ unnecessary,” Loghain said.

 

“It does add an element of excitement to the whole ordeal, though, doesn’t it?” Maric said.

 

“To you, perhaps, but you find _so many_ things exciting. _Corn_ growing, for instance.”

 

“Hey, corn is very pretty!” Maric said. They were led back out and shoved into the closed carriage again.  Maric kept the many words he wished to say silent so Loghain could concentrate on following the twists and turns of the road and matching them up to the map in his head.

 

“They’re taking us in exactly the _opposite_ direction from the bordello,” Loghain said.  “It’s going to be a long walk.”


	13. Chapter 13

It rained on the way back, and it was a bedraggled, soaked, footsore pair of Fereldans who dragged into the bordello that evening. The Duenna met them at the door and covered Maric’s face with kisses.  She even went so far as to kiss Loghain once.

 

“My poor boys. Did that horrible man treat you badly? _Mi bellissimo_ Maric, you pretty face, she’s all black and blue.  I have the girls draw for you both a hot bath, eh?  Soak away the hurts and the cold rain.”

 

“Thanks, that sounds wonderful,” Maric said. The Duenna clapped her hands and a bevy of scantily-clad beauties hustled to prepare the bath water.  “Separate basins, I hope,” Maric whispered once they were out of earshot.  “I mean, I _like_ you, but not that much.”

 

“You think I want to share a tub with the likes of _you?”_ Loghain replied.

 

The bathing room was everything a house of pleasures required, with a number of large copper baths on clawed feet. Two of these were filled with steaming hot water supplied by the helpful prostitutes, who would gladly have stayed to help the men undress if Loghain hadn’t shooed them off.  Maric, of course, tried to hide his disappointment by _feigning_ disappointment.  Loghain sank into his tub with a heavy sigh and let the hot water work its magic on his sore muscles.

 

“Who needs to hire a woman when you can have a bath instead?” he said.

 

“Ha! Well, while I confess there are plenty of pleasures that can be attended to in the bath, they are made all the _more_ pleasant by a woman’s presence,” Maric said, as he sank into his own tub.

 

“A _real_ woman, not a rental hussy,” Loghain said.  “I can’t even comprehend why you’re so enamored of that sort.  I shouldn’t particularly want to ride a _horse_ that the whole city has mounted, either.”

 

“Oh come, Loghain - they’re just working women, trying to get by.”

 

“Don’t talk to _me_ of the hardships of the working class, Maric.  I don’t hold their profession against them at any rate: few are given any choice in the matter at all.  That doesn’t mean I have to support their profession by _employing_ them.  I’d sooner give them the tools they need to get the fuck into some other line of work.  Something that _doesn’t_ see them riddled with diseases or left beaten and broken in the gutters.”

 

“You always have to take the grim view,” Maric said.

 

“I take the _realistic_ view,” Loghain said.  “It’s a high-risk profession.  In Denerim more prostitutes die on the job annually than any other profession, and they don’t die accidental deaths, either.  They make easy targets for predators.”

 

“Oh, I know, I know. But still, there’s something so alluring about a woman who’s so _free_ with her body,” Maric said.

 

“It’s not free: it costs you five pesetas. And may I remind you, please, that the peseta is stronger than the Fereldan sovereign?  So don’t go _crazy,_ Your Majesty, or you’ll break the treasury.”

 

“I’ll have you to know I’ve yet to pay a single sou,” Maric said. “These women, they find Fereldans _exotic._ Some of them would probably go for you, as well, you know.  You’re big and muscle-bound and incredibly hairy.  They’d probably get off on that. _Muy macho.”_

 

“Shut up and soak.”

 

“That little one, with the shy green eyes, sure can’t keep them off you,” Maric said, relentlessly. “She’s awfully cute, Loghain.”  


“She’s looking for customers, Maric.”

 

Maric sighed. “So, once our wounds have healed, and assuming we’re not thrust immediately into some assassination plot or other by our new employer, what’s our itinerary?”

 

“I think we should inquire at the Circle before we do anything else,” Loghain said. “Someone there should know something about these magic mirrors of yours, and perhaps we can coerce them out of a mage’s services, too.  Having someone around who’s handy with a spell always pays off on these kind of wild goose chases.”

 

“We’ll have to let slip my identity, then,” Maric said. “Do you think they’ll believe us?”

 

“Right now? Not a chance.  We’ll have to wait a few days for our bruises to heal, and find some upscale clothes to wear.  We need to replace our confiscated weapons, too, which is our priority.  Can’t go about unarmed for long with _you_ dragging me into fights every time I turn around.  After we find out what we can from the mages we’ll check those ruins the scholar showed us.”

 

“Can you find them? We didn’t get our map back.”

 

“I know where they are.”

 

“Lucky for us you have a mind like a steel trap.”

 

“Yes, yes. Rusty and slammed shut.”

 

“Why do you have to stomp all over my punch lines like that?”

 

“You’re getting predictable in your dotage, Maric.”

 

The Duenna came in to the bathing room. In her hands she carried a laden tea tray.  Loghain scrambled to cover himself while Maric simply lounged in his basin.

 

“I bring you boys a nice, hot tea,” the Duenna said. “I also come to tell you one of _that man’s_ boys has dropped off this.”

 

She set the tea tray down and slapped a hard oilskin packet on a small table that stood between the tubs.

 

“Our first assignment, I assume,” Loghain said, sourly. “I didn’t think it would take the man long.”

 

“Need I say that I am incredibly uncomfortable with this whole assassination game?” Maric said.

 

“It’s nothing. Just stick close to me and let me handle it.”

 

“That’s not exactly what I mean.”

 

“I know what you mean, but what can we do? It was take that loathsome creature’s deal or be assassinated ourselves, and most likely not even with the dignity of an assassination of State, just _disposed_ like so much garbage.  These people place little value on life, particularly when that life is _ours.”_

 

Maric reached for his cup of tea. “You open the envelope, Loghain.  I don’t even want to look at it.”

 

Once the Duenna left Loghain reached for the oilskin packet. He broke it open and pulled out the parchment inside.

 

“Oh, lovely,” he said. “Looks like we’re going to be taking part in a royal coup.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“Apparently there’s a certain Prince making a pretty successful bid for the throne. His co-competitors, as it were, want him out of the picture.  Looks like _our_ guildmaster isn’t the only one contracted to send assassins; we don’t have to make the kill, we just have to make the effort.”

 

“Ha. Nice.”

 

“Of course, you know that the honor of the guild depends on making the kill, so our temporary employer would be quite displeased if that honor did not go to _his_ guild.”

 

Maric sighed. “Of course.”

 

“Like I said, stick close and leave it to me.”

 

“I don’t know what this guy Senor Cacioppo is expecting from us. We’re not _assassins.”_

 

“That’s only half true, and you know it.”

 

Maric sighed again. “Very well; _I’m_ not an assassin.”

 

“That’s why you’re going to leave it to me. Just relax and drink your tea, Maric.  I’ll take care of you; I always do.”


	14. Chapter 14

A high percentage of Antivan Crows are elves. A high percentage of Antivan humans are but little taller than elves.  Gathered outside the Antivan Royal Palace on the day of the coup, Loghain and Maric stood out.  Their fellow assassins, who likewise awaited the order to move out, stared quite unabashedly at the tall Fereldans.

 

One Crow stared quite fixedly at Loghain. “Haven’t I tried to kill you before, _Gringo?”_ he asked.

 

“Doubtful. People who try to kill me don’t usually walk away,” Loghain said.

 

“Tough talk, _hombre.”_

 

“If you think you _tried_ to kill me then you know that I’m nothing less than tough.”

 

“I didn’t think the Crows had started hiring _Dog Lords,”_ another Crow said.

 

“Think of us as contract players,” Maric said.

 

“Just don’t get in the way, _Gringos,”_ the Crow said.  “You’re outta your league here.”

 

“We’ll see,” Loghain said.

 

.   .   .

 

Maric was surprised, and a little appalled, by the festival atmosphere of charging the palace. The Crows whooped and hollered and bayed like sick dogs and there was a great deal of laughter as they raced each other through the corridors and rooms.

 

“I might have expected this to be a more… _stealthy_ affair,” he said to Loghain as he followed him through the twists and turns.

 

“They _want_ their target to know they’re coming.  They want him afraid,” Loghain said.

 

“I would think they want him to _escape.”_

 

“Difficult, with this number of assassins. The castle map we received showed all known entrances and exits, and I’m sure they’re all covered.  Places like this always have secret passages but no doubt the Crows have had occasion over the centuries to become acquainted with most of them.”

 

“Sounds like you take your life in your hands when you enter Antivan politics.”

 

“That’s true of every nation. You don’t know how many times I’ve foiled attempts on _your_ life.”

 

“And I…don’t _want_ to know.”

 

“Let’s try this way,” Loghain said, as they came to a fork in the corridor. He led Maric down the left-hand hall.  The corridor ended in a line of connected rooms, and in the first of them they nearly ran headlong into another Crow, coming from the other direction.

 

“Fereldans? Well.  This operation just got… _weird,”_ the blond elf said in Common.

 

“Contracted,” Maric said.

 

“Coerced, more like,” Loghain said.

 

“Hm? Well, I suppose there is something to be said for the element of surprise.  I know _I_ would certainly be surprised to be expecting the Crows and find instead two _Fereldano Gringos_.  Zevran Ariani.”  He stuck out his hand.  Maric shook with him, Loghain did not.

 

“I see, my friend, that you are the _strong, silent_ type,” Zevran said.  “That’s not a bad way to be in this business, surely, but I will warn the both of you: with so many guilds contracted for the same mark, there is no such thing as _professional courtesy_.  It can get…cutthroat.  Quite literally.”

 

“But you don’t operate that way?” Maric said.

 

“I have no need to. The rest of my team is still after the mark while we stand here, how you say, ‘chewing the fat.’  Besides, I am a _‘people person.’”_

 

At that moment, a small group of assassins burst into the room. “Ah.  Now it gets interesting,” Zevran said, and drew a dagger.  The newcomers already had their blades out.

 

“Draw your sword, Maric,” Loghain said, as he drew his own. The newcomers rushed them.

 

There were five against them, hardly long odds by their usual standards. At some point during the battle Zevran ended up getting pushed out the window.  The splash that followed told that he landed in the river that flowed past below.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Loghain said, as he cut the head off the last attacker. “Assuming he can swim.”

 

.   .   .

 

There were several other pods of assassins they were forced to deal with before they found their target. The target himself had already taken on and successfully defeated several pods himself, with the aid of his own team of hired killers.  These were ruthless, well-trained individuals, but they hadn’t reckoned on, as Zevran said, the element of surprise.  Having two Fereldans burst in on them with swords drawn was far from anything they expected.

 

“What the fuck?” the Prince said. They were his last words.

 

“Nothing personal, Your Highness,” Loghain said, and stabbed him in the heart. With similar dispatch, he and Maric executed the killers who unsuccessfully protected their charge.

 

“That…was distasteful,” Maric said. “I don’t ever want to do a mass-attack assassination again.  How do we prove it was you that killed him?”

 

“Damned if I know.”

 

Someone burst in. Loghain and Maric spun to face them, swords out, but the assassin stopped in the doorway.  He was looking at the bodies on the floor.

 

“Damn it all. Who you working for?” he asked.

 

“Cacioppo,” Maric said.

 

The assassin turned around. “Cacioppo gets the kill,” the man called out, using his hands as a megaphone.  “Cacioppo gets the kill.”

 

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” Maric said.

 

“Good to know there’s _some_ code of honor with these cutthroats,” Loghain said.

 

“Yes. Very comforting,” Maric said.  “Can we go home, now?”


	15. Chapter 15

Once again they were blindfolded, roughly manhandled, and thrown into a closed carriage. This time Loghain’s unerring sense of direction put their final destination as a district of fine city estates in the heart of town.

 

“He can’t be angry with us, can he?” Maric asked in a low voice.

 

“It will be equal parts compliment and warning,” Loghain said. “‘You boys done good.  You make me happy.  Now don’t screw up.  You don’t wanna see me get _un_ happy.’”

 

“Hey, that was a pretty good Antivan accent,” Maric said.

 

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing.”

 

_“No, you haven’t.”_

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“You big joker.”  


“That’s me.”

 

“Are you ever _not_ sarcastic?”

 

“Not typically.”

 

They were taken out of the carriage and led into a house. They were pushed down into chairs before the blindfolds were removed.  Their bald-headed, paunchy employer sat across either the same teakwood desk as before, or another in all ways identical.

 

“You don’t find this charade at all monotonous?” Loghain asked. “I confess that _I_ do.”

 

“You do not appreciate theatricalities,” Senor Cacioppo said. “Your friend, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself.”

 

“My friend could keep himself well entertained with two feathers and a piece of baling twine,” Loghain said. “I do not require entertainment: I prefer to stick strictly to _business.”_

 

“So serious. Well, I like that, when it means you get the job done and done right, like you did.  You boys done good.  You make me happy.  Now don’t screw up.  You don’t wanna see me get _un_ happy.”

 

Maric stared hard at Loghain. “You scare me, do you know that?  In a good way.  Most of the time.”


	16. Chapter 16

Once again they faced a long walk back to the bordello. When they were at last within sight of the building, Maric spoke to Loghain.

 

“Why _two_ feathers?” he said.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You said I could keep myself well entertained with two feathers and a piece of baling twine. Why _two_ feathers?  I’d be perfectly content with one.”

 

Loghain stopped in his tracks and stared at him for a moment. Finally he shook his head sadly and walked on. _“Andraste’s ass.”_

 

Inside, the bordello was in a state of pandemonium. Through the dog pile of half-naked women it was difficult to tell what was going on, but eventually the waves parted a bit and they saw that the prostitutes were attacking a pair of rather large-bodied men.  The men were armed, the women, by and large, were not.  The men had the look of soldiers, which in Antiva meant they were most likely assassins.  There was a great deal of blood on the carpets and even the walls.

 

The Duenna appeared, wielding a dagger that looked more like a short sword. She attacked with deadly speed and silence, but the assassins were too good.  One caught her wrist and twisted until she was forced to drop her weapon.  She cried out in pain.  Loghain let out a roar of animal rage, and everyone stopped fighting and looked.

 

Prostitutes scattered as Loghain rushed forward, grabbed both assassins by the neck, and tossed them to the floor. Their weapons skittered out of their hands and out of reach.

 

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” he said in a growl.

 

“These…gentlemen…decided to become _mean_ with a couple of my girls,” the Duenna said, as she massaged her sore wrist.  “Please, make them disappear.”

 

“Permanently?” Loghain asked.

 

“That would be for the best,” the Duenna said.

 

In response, Loghain’s hands tightened on the men’s necks. They struggled and thrashed, but could not shake him.  Their faces turned red, then purple, and then blue.  The thrashing stopped.

 

“Sometimes, Loghain…you scare me in a _bad_ way,” Maric said.

 

“Is there some place where I can dispose of this garbage?” Loghain asked the Duenna.

 

“An old abandoned cistern out back. If you would please take the bother, there are several bags of quick lime in the tool shed.”

 

“Not a bother. Were any of your girls badly hurt?”

 

“One of them cut Josephina. Otherwise, just scratches.”

 

“I know something about field medicine, if you want me to take a look.”

 

“Please, Maker bless you.”

 

Loghain left the dead men lying and went to tend to the prostitute’s wounds. They were severe - her face and arms were badly cut, and she’d been slashed several times in both breasts.  Fortunately these wounds were meant to hurt and disfigure rather than kill, or she would have been in serious trouble.  Loghain directed Maric to help him apply pressure to the worst of the wounds, to stop the bleeding.

 

“Still think prostitutes are thrilling?” he asked him. “Take a good look at _reality,_ my friend.  This is what these women have to deal with.  What reason do any of them have to trust or even to _like_ men?  If you want to know the truth of it, they probably hate us on general principles.  And who the fuck could blame them?  We may be their primary source of income but we are also the _enemy.”_

 

“This is repulsive. Why would anyone do this?” Maric asked, as he gingerly applied his hands to her wounds.

 

“The short answer? Because they _can_.  You want a better reason than that you’ll have to ask someone else.  I’ll never understand it.”

 

“Is she going to be all right?” Maric asked.

 

“She’ll live. She’s going to need stitches, though.  Go ask the Duenna if she wants to call for a surgeon.  I can do it if I have to, but it won’t be as pretty when its healed.”

 

The Duenna came back in with Maric. “You can stitch her up?”

 

“If you can get me thread and a sterilized needle,” he said. “I’ve done it before, when I had to, but a surgeon could do a neater job of it.”

 

“I’ve had surgeons out to stitch up my girls before,” the Duenna said. “They don’t care that my girls make their living on their looks.  Please, I’d rather you did it.  Maybe you are not so skilled, but at least you seem to care.”

 

“All right, if you think it wise. Sterilized needle and thread, and rubbing alcohol, if you’ve got it.  Otherwise, some sort of liquor will work all right, preferably something clear like gin.  And she’s going to need some liquor herself.  This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

 

Josephina smiled, quite a grim sight through the blood and lacerations on her face. “I am used to pain,” she said.

 

“I don’t doubt it. Still, no need to suffer excessively, is there?  Not when this country is so renowned for its brandy.”


	17. Chapter 17

A couple of days, and help from the Duenna to find them each a suit of high-class clothing that actually fit, barring a few on-the-spot alterations, and Maric and Loghain were ready to beard the templars at Antiva’s Circle of Magi.

 

Loghain was unaccountably nervous as they approached the white stone tower. “What’s wrong with you?” Maric asked.  “You’re acting like a boy paying court to his first girl.”

 

“I hate diplomatic missions,” Loghain said. “I never know what I’m supposed to do.  Should I announce you?  Am I supposed to speak for you?  You know that would likely be disastrous.”

 

“Relax; I’ll take the lead. You just stand there and look decorative.”

 

“My daughter would never decorate with any sculpture as ugly as I.”

 

“Not everyone has your daughter’s good taste.”

 

They entered the building. A templar greeted them at the door with a flurry of Antivan.

 

“I hope you got all that,” Loghain whispered to Maric. “I only caught the words for ‘get out.’”

 

The templar switched to Common. “This is the Circle of Magi.  Unless you have official business with the templars, I shall have to ask you gentlemen to leave.”

 

“We have official business,” Maric said. “I wish to speak to your Knight-Commander.  In the name of the sovereign of Ferelden.”

 

“Wait here.”

 

The Knight-Commander arrived in due course. “Who is it who claims to speak for the King of Ferelden?” the man asked without preamble.

 

“The King of Ferelden,” Maric said, with one of his brightest smiles. “Maric Theirin, at your service.”

 

The Knight-Commander stared at him. “King Maric of Ferelden was lost at sea,” he said.  “He’s dead.”

 

“Clearly your information is incorrect, Knight-Commander,” Loghain said, dryly.

 

“I assure you, Knight-Commander, as unlikely as it seems, I am the King of Ferelden. This is my friend, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren.  If you doubt my identity you can rest assured.  No man would have the balls to impersonate Loghain.”

 

The Knight-Commander looked from Maric to Loghain and back again. “You do closely resemble the King of Ferelden…” he said slowly.  “But portraits I have seen of Loghain make the man look like a dragon or a hound.”

 

Loghain scowled at the man, and the templar peered closely at him. After a moment, clearly unsettled, the Knight-Commander turned back to Maric.  “What can I do for Your Majesty?”


	18. Chapter 18

“Ancient Elven artifacts…” The mage browsed the shelves of the Circle library almost as if she’d forgotten the existence of the men.  “Well, if this mirror of yours was hidden by the elves themselves things could get complicated.  It would be easier to find if it were hidden by the Tevinters.  I know a lot about the ways the Tevinters had of hiding things.”

 

The mage was rather pretty. Maric straightened his collar and stepped closer to her.  Loghain rolled his eyes.

 

“Excuse me, Githa, was it? Your Common is excellent,” Maric said.

 

“I grew up in the Fereldan Circle,” Githa said. “That’s why they stuck me with you.  No language barrier.”

 

“Why were you sent to Antiva?” Maric asked.

 

She shrugged. She still did not look at the King or his companion.  “Search me.  Random shuffling is fairly common.  They don’t like to have too many mages of one specialty in one Circle.”

 

“And your specialty is…?”

 

“Historical research, actually, but what they’re worried about is the fact that I’m trained in the school of Spirit magic. The templars get very uptight about Spirit mages.  They consider it a grey area.”

 

“I thought Spirit magic was concerned with healing?” Loghain asked. She turned to look for the first time, and flashed him a brilliant smile.

 

“It is.”

 

“Templars consider healing magic a _‘grey area?’_ I knew there was a reason I hated templars.”

 

Githa chuckled. “You and me both.  Now, back to work.  There’s a book in the Fereldan Circle that has all sorts of information about ancient Arlathan - probably all the information the modern world has on the place - but I don’t know for certain we have a copy here.  The codex organization here is…different, to say the least.  That and almost everything is written in Antivan.”

 

She scanned through a few more shelves. “Ah!  This will help us.”  She plucked a book off a low shelf and took it over to a nearby table.

 

Maric hovered over her shoulder as she paged through the tome. Uncomfortable, she slid away from him, and bumped into Loghain.  She smiled up at him briefly but made no effort to move away.

 

“The Arlathan elves knew that the Tevinter Imperium was going to destroy their kingdom, so they took steps to protect some of their greatest treasures,” she said. “The spell they used was simple but very effective; no one who did not possess the blood of Arlathan could breach it.  If your mirror was hidden by the elves, we can reach it, if no one beat us to it.”

 

“How? None of us has the blood of Arlathan,” Maric said. Loghain’s sudden furtive expression passed without notice.

 

“We’d need a bit of elven blood, is all. Erm…I’d prefer you don’t tell the Knight-Commander about that when you ask for my release.  It’s not blood magic, not really - the templars use almost exactly the same technique to track escaped Circle mages - but they wouldn’t be happy about it nonetheless.”

 

“How do we get elven blood?” Maric asked. “That’s kind of…ick.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure there’s someone out there willing to prick a finger for a few coppers.”

 

“We’ll cross that bridge when - and if - we come to it,” Loghain said, uncomfortably. “Are you certain you wish to join us, Miss?  Our accommodations are not particularly…comfortable…and there’s no telling how long we would need your assistance.  It might be better to fob the job off on another mage.  A man.”

 

Githa bridled. “Do you think, because I’m a woman, I can’t handle discomfort?”

 

“We’re lodging at a whorehouse, Miss.”

 

“…Ah. Well.  As long as no one tries to hire me, I expect I’ll manage.”

 

Loghain shrugged. “As you wish.”


	19. Chapter 19

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Miss,” Loghain said.

 

“Don’t mention it, and do please call me Githa,” Githa said. “The healing was easy; the only tricky part was taking out the stitches, and that’s not all that difficult.  You didn’t do a half bad job with it.  She probably wouldn’t have scarred much even without my help.”

 

“Nevertheless, I am glad you were able to help her. I don’t like the fact that there are women who make their living on their backs, but I didn’t want to be the reason one of them lost a reasonably decent position here at the brothel.  It’s better - _safer_ \- than working the streets, I guess.”

 

“You’re a lot different from your…‘friend.’”

 

“Maric doesn’t mean any harm. He thinks that because they give it up to him for free it means they truly want him, when I’m certain it’s all the Duenna’s doing.  Either she knows who he really is or she actually likes him for some reason.”

 

“Is he _really_ the King of Ferelden?” Githa asked.

 

“He really is. I would ask you to keep silent about it, however.  We are trying to keep a low profile.”

 

“It seems so hard to believe. I mean, I had always heard that King Maric was a great man.”

 

“Maric _is_ a great man,” Loghain said, and bridled.

 

“He seems pleasant enough, but rather shallow.”

 

“You do not know him,” Loghain said, but was seized with the uncomfortable sensation that she was right.

 

“You’re right, of course. I should not presume.”  She peeped shyly up at him.  “Is it true also, then, that you are Teyrn Loghain?”

 

“Yes. Do you find _that_ hard to believe?”

 

“To be truthful with you? Yes.  The stories make you out to be rather brutal and uncaring.”

 

“There is a great deal of truth in such stories.”

 

“And yet you show great concern for the welfare of an Antivan prostitute. Perhaps it is true that I do not know you, either, but I do not think I could be mistaken.  You obviously have a kind heart, even if you do not care to show it often.”

 

He tugged at the collar of his blouse, which was suddenly too tight, and changed the subject. “Tell me of your studies.  You have information on the Tevinter Imperium that may be useful to us?”

 

“Assuming your mirror was hidden by them and not the elves of Arlathan, yes,” she said. “The magisters used a variety of spells to hide and protect things that were precious to them, but they can all be confounded with location spells of varied strengths.  I can handle it easily.  The spell we need to find the mirror if it was hidden by the elves is more complicated, almost ritualized.  And you don’t really care about _how_ it works, only that it does, am I right?”

 

“That’s not _entirely_ true.”

 

“Yes it is. You only changed the subject to keep me from getting too personal.”

 

“I did not.”

 

“Are you married?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“I’m getting personal.”

 

He tugged at his collar again. “My wife passed away a few years back.”

 

“I’m sorry. Did you love her very much?”

 

“She was my _wife.”_

 

“That doesn’t mean all that much to some men. Do you have any children?”

 

“I have a daughter.”

 

“Is she very pretty?”

 

“She’s lovely. Why are you asking all of this?”

 

“I’m just curious. It’s hardly every day you get the chance to talk to a living legend.”

 

He grimaced. “Easy on that bullshit.”

 

“What’s your daughter’s name?” she asked.

 

“Anora.”

 

“That’s a pretty name. Much nicer than _Githa_ , at any rate.”

 

“Githa’s a nice enough name.”

 

“I always thought it was the first injustice my parents inflicted upon me. Not that I remember my parents.”

 

“I know women named Hedglund and Bolga. Githa’s not so bad.”

 

“When you put it that way, I suppose it isn’t. Hedglund?  Really?”

 

“Really. It’s an old Avaar name.  They still hold to the old ways up in the Frostbacks.”

 

“So what really brings you to Antiva? You don’t seem the type to care about chasing ancient history.”

 

“Shows what you know. I happen to find history fascinating.”

 

“But magic mirrors? Doesn’t seem like something you’d care to waste your time on.”

 

“You want to know why I am here? Fair enough. I am here because Maric _needs_ me here.  He asked me to come and so I came.”

 

“You set your entire life aside, even if temporarily, to chase magic mirrors with your King?”

 

“With my _friend.”_

 

She smiled. “You’re that good of friends?”

 

“I don’t quite know what you mean.”

 

“You’d just drop everything and come running for a friend?”

 

“Wouldn’t you?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m not really allowed to go running off after anyone.”

 

“Oh. I suppose you’re not.”

 

“I like the fact that _you_ would, though.  That’s loyalty, I guess.  Fidelity is an…attractive trait.”

 

Loghain cleared his throat loudly and took a step back from her. “I should be going,” he said.

 

“Going where?” she asked, and laughed. “You have plans for your evening, here among the hookers?  Stay and chat.  Unless you’re _scared_ of me, that is.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be scared of you?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, and laughed again, “but I know that you _are._ If it was because I’m a mage I guess I’d understand - I’m used to that - but _I_ think it’s because I’m a woman.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you.”

 

“You shake like a leaf if I venture the slightest little flirt. You’re a bundle of nerves.”

 

“I am… _unaccustomed_ to…flirtation.”

 

She grinned broadly. “You’re _shy.”_

 

“I am _not_ shy.”

 

“You _are_.  The Great Loghain Mac Tir is _shy.”_ She seemed utterly delighted to discover that.  “We shall have to work on that.  Don’t want the world to think that Ferelden’s greatest Hero has a weakness.”

 

“And what would you recommend to remedy the situation?” he asked, with a roll of the eyes.

 

“I suppose I shall simply have to flirt with you until you get used to it,” she said. She waved a leather-bound novel in the air.  “I am going to go read this book, so enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Your Lordship.”

 

She walked away then, but as she passed him on her way to the next room she smacked him none too lightly on the rear with her book. “Nice,” she said.  Maric came into the room just in time to catch this exchange.

 

Maric caught Loghain’s eye and raised his eyebrows to his hairline. “You two seem to be getting along rather well,” he said.

 

“She’s a little tart,” Loghain said, uncomfortably.


	20. Chapter 20

“Are we there yet?”

 

“Maric, I swear before the Maker, if you ask that question one more time I’m going to smack you senseless.”

 

Githa laughed merrily and hiked along using her staff as a walking stick. “Enjoy the journey, Your Majesty,” she said.  “Beautiful weather, fresh air, healthful exercise…a really nice view.”

 

She was walking directly behind Loghain. At her words his steps hurried slightly to put more distance between them.  She laughed again.

 

“An even _better_ view.”

 

“It’s just that we’ve been walking _forever_ , and I don’t see any ruins yet,” Maric said.  “Just lots of trees.  And the road keeps getting higher and higher.  I’m tired out and we aren’t even there yet.”

 

“Unless _you’d_ like to be the one carrying the camp kit, I suggest you shut up about being tired,” Loghain said crossly.

 

“Isn’t there a village or someplace we can stop for the night?” Maric asked. “I don’t want to camp out.”

 

“There are farms, but we’re not stopping at them,” Loghain said. “It’s not that much farther.  If we keep moving we can be there well before dark.  You, Maric, have become spoiled.”

 

“Why did we have to start with the _furthest_ ruin?” Maric asked.  “The other two Tevinter ruins are closer to the boarding house.”

 

“The _bordello,_ you mean.  We’re starting with this one because that scholar we talked to said it was the largest and most intact.”

 

“I’m enjoying this immensely,” Githa said. “I’ve never spent so much time outdoors.  And no templars!  And everything is so beautiful, and the people we pass are all smiling.”

 

“Yes. It’s unnerving,” Loghain said.

 

_“What?”_

 

“Fereldans don’t smile,” Maric explained. “Especially not at Loghain.”

 

“Oh.”

 

They walked together in silence for a few more miles. The road wound up the side of what seemed to be a tame, rounded mountain whose lower slopes were covered with vineyard fields.  After a time, the ever-shrinking shoulder of the road on the outside of the mountain fell away rather sharply.

 

“Don’t fall off,” Loghain said, and grabbed Maric’s shoulder and pushed him toward the edge.

 

“Hey! Stop!” Maric said, and veered back toward the inside track. He pushed Loghain.  “Meanie.”

 

“You’re like two gigantic children,” Githa said.

 

“Of course. We’re men,” Maric said.

 

“Ask any wife, and she’ll tell you the same,” Loghain added.

 

They walked on a bit longer. Vineyards gave way to trees, but still the mountainside was broken here and there with homesteads where smiling peasants waved to the passersby.  The mountain was, in Maric’s words, looking more and more mountainy, with rather a sheer cliff on the outside of the road, which had narrowed.  The ruin was on the peak, still high above them.

 

A small dark-haired child squatted on the side of the road, crying and sniffling.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Maric asked. He repeated the question in Antivan.  The little boy looked up and his tearful eyes grew huge.  He shot to his feet.

 

 _“Fereldanos!”_ he cried.  Loghain expected him to run away screaming, but instead he seemed genuinely happy to see them.  He gabbled in his native tongue.

 

Loghain tapped Maric on the arm. “What did he say?  He talks too fast for me.”

 

“He said he was playing with his puppy, throwing sticks. The puppy fell off the mountainside, Loghain, and he’s on a little ledge down there, trapped.  His _puppy.”_

 

Loghain moved to the edge of the cliff and looked down. There was a narrow ledge about fifty or sixty feet below the road, and he saw a small mongrel pup standing on it, with his front paws on the cliff face.  The pup stared up at him and yipped plaintively.

 

He stepped back and shook his head. “There’s no getting down to it,” he said.  “The ledge is too narrow and the cliff too unstable.”

 

The boy must have read from his expression and headshake that he thought the case was hopeless. He began to cry harder.

 

“Give me the rope,” Maric asked.

 

“What?”

 

Maric grabbed the coil of rope that hung off the side of the camp kit Loghain carried on his back. He shoved one end of the rope into Loghain’s hands, grinned wickedly, and bounded down the sheer side of the mountain.  With an oath, Loghain wrapped rope swiftly around his brawny arms and ran to brace the rope around the bole of a nearby tree.  “Maric, I’m going to kill you,” he grunted as he strained against the King’s weight.

 

Githa ran to the edge of the cliff and dropped to hands and knees to watch the King’s treacherous descent. “Oh, be careful!” she cried as she saw the soft stone crumbling beneath his feet as he rappelled down.

 

“Don’t worry, I got this,” Maric called back, and reached the ledge where the worried puppy waited, tail wagging vigorously. He reached down and scooped the pup up and held it in the crook of his arm.  “All right, Loghain - I got the pup.  You can start pulling me up now.”

 

 _“Pull you up?_ I can barely hold you!” Loghain shouted.

 

Maric’s sigh rose up from below. “Must I do everything?” he said.  He tucked the pup into the neck of his blouse and began to climb the rope hand over hand.  He crawled back up onto the road and delivered the pup to the grateful boy, whose tears were now of joy.  The boy gabbled his thanks and covered the puppy’s face in kisses.  Maric tousled the boy’s hair affectionately.

 

Loghain dropped the rope and wiped sweat from his brow. “I thought you said you were _tired,”_ he growled.

 

“Well, I am _now,_ definitely,” Maric said.

 

The boy, pup in arms, walked over to Loghain. He looked up at the big man with an infantile reproduction of Loghain’s famous scowl on his face.  He stomped hard on Loghain’s foot.

 

 _“Ouch._ Ornery little shit,” Loghain said, but he couldn’t help grinning as the boy walked away with his dog.

 


	21. Chapter 21

There was still some light left to the day when they made camp at the base of the ruins atop the mountain. Loghain built a fire, and Maric served up the cold cut sandwiches that the Duenna had packed for them; thick slabs of beef, pork, and turkey layered with fresh sliced garden vegetables and a spicy sauce.

 

“You know,” Loghain said, between mouthfuls, “either I’m getting used to this Antivan food or my taste buds are being smothered by the heat.”

 

“The Duenna hasn’t been giving us the _really_ hot stuff,” Maric said.  “You should try eating at an Antivan pub sometime.”

 

“I’ll pass, if it’s all the same.”

 

Supper finished, the men and the mage poked around the surface ruins a bit, a trifle aimlessly. “If your mirror is here, it must be deeper in,” Githa said, after the few spells she tried turned up nothing.  “Still, this is fun, isn’t it?  I feel like I’m on a real adventure.  Do the two of you do this kind of thing often?”

 

“No,” Maric said, with an air of perfect innocence, while, “Yes,” Loghain said at exactly the same time, with a grimace. “It’s all in your perspective,” Maric said, with a shrug.

 

Githa tittered. “You two are too much.  Have you always been this way with each other, or did it develop over time?”

 

Maric laughed. “When we first met, Loghain couldn’t _stand_ me,” he said, joyously.

 

“So you see very little has changed,” Loghain said.

 

“Well, you certainly make an unlikely pair of friends,” Githa said. “I guess opposites really do attract, don’t they?”

 

Maric elbowed Loghain in the side. “You hear that?  You know what that means, right?  It means I’ve got brains, beauty, and charm and you’ve got…opposite.”

 

“That’s fairly close to accurate,” Loghain said, “except you don’t have brains.”

 

“Oo, ouch! Now, _who_ is the one who risked life and limb to rescue a little boy’s puppy?”

 

“I rest my case. And mark my words, Maric - the next time you jump off a bloody mountain see if I don’t drop the damned rope.”

 

“So how long have you two been married?” Githa asked, with a grin.

 

“Ha ha. Actually, Githa, the both of us are poor, lonely widowers,” Maric said.  “One of us lonelier than the other.”

 

“You’re _both_ widowers?” Githa said, and she seemed struck by it.

 

“Yes. Does that seem odd?”

 

“Not exactly. But statistically women tend to live a little bit longer than men.  I think because if you can survive childbirth _and_ your husband you can survive anything.”

 

“Well, my wife got sick, and Loghain’s _didn’t_ survive childbirth,” Maric said, in a gentle tone.  “It happens.  It’s sad, but there’s nothing that can be done about it.  I learned to be cheerful again, eventually, but that’s a trait Loghain never had in the first place.  Bereavement is harder on someone like him.  There are too few people he loves.”

 

“Will you shut up about me and look for your Maker-damned mirror?” Loghain said.

 

“Hey, I found something!” Githa said. Both men looked across to where she knelt.  In her fingers she held a piece of broken ceramic.  “A potsherd.  It has a bit of a picture on it, I think it’s a bull.  I bet if I cleaned it up it would show nicely.”

 

“We’re not looking for broken pottery,” Loghain said, with a roll of the eyes.

 

“I want to see,” Maric said. He climbed over a tumbled column and knelt by Githa’s side.  He took a handkerchief from his sleeve and carefully cleaned the dirt off the bit of ceramic.  “It _is_ a bull.  Looks a bit like Loghain, don’t it?”

 

She giggled. “Particularly in the way it seems arrested mid-charge.”

 

“He’s _been_ arrested mid-charge,” Maric said.  “Takes a lot of guards to do it, and ‘tis a brave man who’d dare to try.”

 

“If you two are going to play in the dirt I could just as soon go home,” Loghain said.

 

“Relax, my friend. We’ll not find anything of note tonight.  We’ll knuckle down and search in earnest tomorrow morning,” Maric said.  “For now the light is fading, so just let’s enjoy the scenery until twilight sets in.”

 

In answer, Loghain crossed his arms over his chest and leaned indolently against a column that leaned brokenly against a ruined wall. The King returned to looking for potsherds with Githa.

 

“Oo, here’s another bit,” he said. “Let’s see; yes, it’s a match.  What’s the picture?  Looks like a man.”

 

He cleaned the shard with his handkerchief and fitted it against the piece with the bull. The small, incomplete figure of the man seemed to rise over top of the charging animal, and the man’s hands terminated in the break between the shards.  It looked as though he were reaching for the horns of the beast.

 

“Oh, I’ve read about this!” Githa said, excitedly. “He’s jumping over the bull!  The ancient Tevinters used to do that for sport, sort of like Antivan bullfighting today only no swords.  Can you imagine standing in front of a charging bull?  You’d have to be mad.”

 

“The matadors do it, don’t they?” Maric asked.

 

“Have you ever seen a bullfight?” Githa asked. “You can see into the stadium from the upper-story windows of the tower.  Not a great view, but sufficient.  A matador faces down the bull but he’s smart enough to step out of the way when it charges. _These_ men, the Tevinters…they’d wait until the beast was right on them and then vault straight over.  I wonder if the bulls back then were as big as the ones we have now.  Some Antivan bulls weigh close on to a ton and stand as tall as a man.”

 

“I wonder if _I_ could jump a charging bull,” Maric pondered.

 

“Try it and you’ll have bigger things to worry about than an angry bull,” Loghain said.

 

“Well, just think about it. I mean, what is the point?”

 

“Ancient humans didn’t live very long. When you’re old and used up by thirty and dead by forty, you develop a devil-may-care attitude about life,” Loghain said.

 

“I think it was meant to show faith in the gods, or something,” Githa said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Faith in the strength of your legs and the stoutness of your heart, seems like to me.  I couldn’t be that brave, _or_ crazy.”

 

They poked around in the ruins some more. Githa pocketed her two potsherds, found a few more undecorated pieces she let lie, and a number of small animal bones which, for some reason, she put in her pouch along with the potsherds.

 

“You have an interest in dead rodents?” Maric asked, incredulously.

 

“I’ve never seen bones before, outside of plates in an anatomy book. I find them fascinating.”

 

“You’ve really never been outside before, have you?” Maric asked. “I keep forgetting you’ve spent your life locked away indoors.”

 

“They used to let us outside for exercise back in Ferelden, but that stopped when a fool named Anders jumped into the lake and swam away.”

 

“Standing on a small prominence of rock in the middle of a lake isn’t quite the same as being out of doors for real, dear heart,” he said. “Have you ever touched a blade of grass?”

 

“I have now. And I’ll thank you not to remind me of what I must return to.  I intend to enjoy every moment of my freedom while it lasts.”

 

The sun sank down below the western horizon, and the party returned to the campfire. Loghain added wood to the blaze, and disdaining assistance Githa erected the small tent they’d brought along for her use.  It was not properly pitched by any means when she was done, but she seemed quite satisfied with the sagging structure and herself.  She looked over at Loghain and gave him a saucy wink.

 

“If you get lonely tonight, you could join me in here,” she said, and laughed as she disappeared inside. She lay there in the gathering darkness and listened to the men argue outside.

 

“Take her up on it,” Maric insisted. “How often in life do you get an offer like that?”

 

“She’s just teasing me,” Loghain said, irritably. “Shut up and go to sleep.”


	22. Chapter 22

The ruin was quite extensive, for all it was confined to the peak of a round-topped mountain. In the morning, after an unsatisfactory breakfast of leftover cold cuts, they tackled the job of making a detailed sweep of the ruin from top to bottom.  On top, very little remained except a few crumbling walls and a partial tower, but beneath, cut into the mountain itself, was a vast network of dungeons.  They had their work cut out for them.

 

“I don’t sense anything up here,” Githa said, nervously, as they poked their way with great caution through the upper ruin. “Nothing aside from crumbling stonemasonry, that is.”

 

“It’s unlikely we’ll find anything of note up here anyway,” Loghain said. “It’s too exposed to the ravages of the elements.  If the mirror was here it would have broken long ago.  We’ll have better luck perhaps in the substructure.”

 

“Now hang on,” Maric said. “This place is fascinating.  Why don’t we look around a bit more?”

 

“Look, I know you’re a king and everything,” Githa said, “but this doesn’t feel really very safe up here.”

 

“You think it will be better in the dungeons, where the whole tower can come crumbling down on top of us? Come on; how often do you get to explore ancient ruins?”

 

“We’re likely to be doing a _lot_ of it in the coming days, unless we get lucky enough to find the damned thing our first time out - which I doubt,” Loghain said.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always been kind of lucky,” Maric said.  “For example, the time I was lost in the woods, running for my life, and ran into a kind-hearted but _surly_ young outlaw who helped me out at enormous personal expense.”

 

“Yeah? Well, if he’d known the cost at the time he would have left you to rot,” Loghain said.

 

“And I was lucky, then, that he didn’t. But admit it, he knew something bad might come of helping me, didn’t he?”

 

“You were the surly young outlaw, then, I take it?” Githa asked Loghain.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You were an _outlaw?”_

 

“I was a Fereldan peasant. At the time, it meant pretty much the same thing.”

 

“So what did it cost you, helping the King?”

 

“My father’s life.”

 

“Oh. I’m…I’m sorry.”

 

“Come on, let’s look around a bit more before we take to the deeps,” Maric said. “I like this place.”

 

The trio continued poking cautiously through the upper stories. “What do you think this place was used for?” Maric asked.  “It certainly looks like it was quite heavily decorated at one time.”

 

“From the unbroken bits of the friezes, I’d guess the place had some sort of significance to the worshippers of the Old God Urthemiel,” Githa said. “He was supposed to be the god of beauty, so that explains all the paintings and sculptures.”

 

“In what ways did the Tevinters worship old Urthemiel?” Maric asked. His tone was carefully innocent.

 

“Festivals, animal sacrifices…orgies.”

 

“Ah, the humble orgy. What better way to celebrate life than with group sex?”

 

“Sounds revolting to me. Who wants to have sex with a bunch of other pricks waving in the same room?” Loghain said.

 

“I’m a one-guy-at-a-time woman myself,” Githa said, with a wink in his direction.

 

“How many _women_ will you lay with at a time?” Maric asked.

 

 _“Maric,”_ Loghain said.

 

“What? A man can dream, can’t he?”

 

“No more than three. Any more than that and it gets confusing,” Githa said.

 

“Are you serious?” Maric asked.

 

“No, I’m not serious. But I had you wondering, didn’t I?”

 

“No, but you’ve got him _salivating._ Clean yourself up, Maric,” Loghain said.  “This is getting us nowhere; I’m going to head down into the dungeons, with or without you.”

 

Loghain turned and headed for the stairs. Githa moved to follow him but Maric held her back.  “Hold up just a moment, dear.  I’d like to speak to you, privately.”

 

She looked at him with wariness in her eyes. “Yes?”

 

Maric checked to be certain Loghain was out of earshot. “He has abominably good hearing, and if he knew I’d spoken to you he’d be very angry,” he said.  “I wanted to ask you, just what are your intentions?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Your intentions. With regard to Loghain.”

 

She laughed nervously. “Are you his father, now?”

 

“No, I’m his friend, and I know him well. If you’re only teasing, I’ll thank you to leave him be.  He doesn’t need that.”

 

“If I’m only teasing?”

 

“You know what I mean. Now, personally, I’m all for a little innocent flirtation, but Loghain doesn’t function that way.  Don’t start something you’re not prepared to take further.  He’s very vulnerable.  I’m not saying you have to sleep with him, don’t think that.  Just…don’t play with his heart.  Don’t reach for it if you don’t want it.”

 

There was a low wall of stone beside the stairwell. Githa hoisted herself to a seat on top of it.  “You’re telling me not to break his heart.  I get that.  I’m not out to.  I don’t know how long it is until I’m back in lockup; I’m just trying to enjoy my freedom while it lasts.  I admit; the idea of sleeping with a man like that has a lot of appeal to me.  But I get it.  I can’t have anything more than a fling, and he’s not a ‘fling’ kind of man.  I’ll back off.”

 

Maric raised both hands and shook them in front of his face in a negative gesture. “No no no no no.  Don’t think like that.  Don’t think ‘it’s only so long until I’m back at the Circle.’  Don’t think ‘I can only afford a fling.’  Would you potentially like _more_ than that, if you could have it?”

 

“What, you mean, like, a _relationship?_ Why dream beyond my means?”

 

“Would you or wouldn’t you?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe _. Probably_.  He seems like a good guy, if a little ornery perhaps.  I don’t mind ornery.  But hey, even if I weren’t a mage, he’s still a Teyrn.”

 

“Yes, a Teyrn who started out as an outlaw, and don’t buy anything he tells you about that because I’m pretty sure he broke _all kinds_ of laws, many of which the Orlesians had nothing to do with.  You let me worry about his status.  If you get to know him better, and still think there’s a chance you want to get to know him better still…go for it.  He _really needs_ a good woman.  He doesn’t do well on his own.”

 

“First you tell me not to break his heart, and next you tell me to seek out a relationship with him?” Githa asked. “Do you really not see what’s wrong with this concept?”

 

“You don’t want to go back to the Circle. I’m a _King,_ Githa; you don’t seem to believe it but it’s true.  I can make that happen for you.  I _will_ make it happen.  You’re helping me, I’m more than happy to help you in return.  But that man you’re keen on?  He’s not a good one, Githa.  He’s one of the _best._ And he is very, very unhappy.  And more than a little self-destructive.  If you have even a slim chance in hell of changing that even the _slightest bit,_ I’m going to do everything I can to help you.  I owe him that.”

 

Githa jumped down off the wall. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”  In truth she looked pale and close to fainting.  “This is a lot to take in.”

 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have piled everything on top of you right at the start,” Maric said.  “Loghain is the best friend I’ve ever had, or could ever have, and he’s saved my life times beyond counting.  I hate to see him the way he is when he thinks he’s alone in the world.”

 

“He’s got you,” Githa pointed out.

 

Maric smiled. “Loghain would do anything for a friend.  But friends are just friends.  He needs something more than that, to remind him that he’s human.”

 

“What is it he thinks he is?” Githa asked.

 

Maric’s smile faltered, and he sighed. “He thinks…he’s a monster.  And doubtless he hasn’t waited up for us, so we’d better go and find him.”


	23. Chapter 23

It was dark in the substructure of the ruin, but Loghain had found and lit a torch. That didn’t help Maric and Githa much, for he had ranged far ahead of them, but eventually they picked their way through the darkness with the aid of a few fire spells and found him.  He heard them coming and waited up.

 

“Found anything?” Githa asked, and as she came up next to him she “accidentally” brushed his hand with hers.

 

“A few rats; nothing more,” Loghain said. He twitched at the contact but made no comment on it.

 

“How deep do you think these dungeons go?”

 

“Pretty damned. Can you use your spells?”

 

“I’ve been. Nothing so far.”

 

“Well, let’s keep looking. We’ve got a ways yet to go.”

 

They continued on into the substructure, deep into the mountain. The further they went the closer the darkness pressed in around them.  And in the darkness beyond the flickering circle of torchlight monsters lurked.  Mostly it was rats, some of them quite large and bold, but there were also undead creatures, demonically-possessed dead flesh.  When they reached the lowest portion of the ruin, the undead began to outnumber the living severely.  They were in a catacomb, a depository of the dead.

 

“Why didn’t they bloody burn them?” Maric asked, as he slashed at a walking skeleton with his sword. “Yes!  Pile dead bodies in the cellar.  Nothing bad ever happens when you do something like that!”

 

“It wasn’t until Andrastianism became prevalent that people began to burn their dead regularly,” Githa said. “In Nevarra they still practice the interment of full corpses.  Very elaborate burials, too.”

 

“The Dalish don’t burn their dead, either,” Loghain said. “Bury the body and plant a tree on the grave.”

 

“Well _that_ doesn’t sound quite so dangerous,” Maric said.  “If all the dirt doesn’t keep the body down, the roots of the tree will.”

 

“That may be the practical reason underlying why they do it that way,” Loghain said.

 

“I’m swiftly running out of like for this place,” Maric said, as he re-killed another skeleton. “Githa; if you don’t find anything now I say we call it a loss and get out of here.”

 

“Keep the monsters off me and I’ll cast my spells,” Githa said. She went through a number of castings while the men hacked away at the undead.  “There’s nothing.  Unless these dungeons go very much deeper yet, there’s no mirror here.”

 

“They don’t go deeper,” Loghain said. “Not unless there’s a secret passage here somewhere.”

 

“I would have found it if so,” Githa said.

 

“Then let’s get out of here,” Maric said.

 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Loghain said, and began fighting his way back to the stairs. Together they hacked, bashed, slashed, and spellcasted their way out of the dungeons and back into the fading light of day again.

 

“Oh, fresh air,” Githa said in a reverent sigh. “I don’t care if I never set foot indoors again.”

 

“Well, you’ll not set foot indoors tonight.” Loghain rebuilt the fire and then traded his sword for his bow.  “I’m going to see if I can’t find us something to eat on this mountain.”

 

He walked down from the bare peak to the tree line and disappeared into the woods. Maric and Githa waited patiently by the fireside for an hour until he came trooping back up the mountain, carrying a wild turkey by the feet.  He dressed the animal out and spitted it over the fire.  It was a long time in roasting, but at least there was plenty of meat to sate their ravenous appetites once it was done.

 

Githa stretched and yawned. “I’m sleepy,” she said.

 

“Go to bed,” Loghain said, around a mouthful of drumstick.

 

“I’m not going to bed until you two do,” she said, and cozied up beside him. She put her head on his arm and closed her eyes.

 

“Don’t fall asleep here; I’ll move and let you drop,” he said.


	24. Chapter 24

They walked down the mountain in the morning, after a bite of cold leftover turkey. On the way, they passed the young boy and his puppy, both of whom ran out into the road after them, the boy laughing and waving, the puppy yapping and wriggling.

 

“You made a fan, Your Majesty,” Githa said.

 

“That’s what I do, Githa,” Maric said, and threw out his chest. Loghain socked him and he blew out breath in a rush.  “Ouch.”

 

“Don’t start your strutting and preening, Maric,” Loghain said.

 

“Well, we can mark one ruin off our agenda,” Maric said, after he caught his breath. “Only about an even dozen to go.”

 

“Five,” Loghain said.

 

“Close enough. And seven pending assassinations.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Githa asked.

 

“Six,” Loghain said.

 

“Six? What happened to seven?” Maric said.

 

“I took care of it.”

 

“Took care of what? Or _whom?”_ Githa asked.

 

“We’re kind of in hock to the Antivan Crows,” Maric said. “Long story: we sort of accidentally killed a bunch of them and now their guildmaster is making us work to pay off the blood.  If we don’t, we’re as good as dead.”

 

“Oh dear Maker.”

 

“What do you mean you ‘took care’ of number seven, Loghain?” Maric asked.

 

“Just what it sounds like. The contract came in shortly before we went to the Circle.  I took care of it that night.”

 

“So you just went out and killed somebody?” Githa said.

 

“I do a lot of that. Sorry if it upsets you.”

 

“It _worries_ me.  Do you really trust this guildmaster not to turn on you when all is said and done?”

 

“No. But if he does, I’ll kill him.”

 

“Is it that easy?”

 

“There’s no other solution. It’s kill or be killed.”

 

“Well, I hope it doesn’t bite you in the ass. I hope it doesn’t bite _me_ in the ass.”


	25. Chapter 25

Long days, poking through tumbled ruins, finding nothing more interesting than a few painted potsherds, long nights spent stalking contracted victims for the Crows. Time passed slowly one day into the next.  Loghain began to fear that he would never convince Maric to come home.  The man seemed to be enjoying his freedom from care entirely too much.  On one hand, Loghain supposed he could not blame him.  The crown was a burden he did not care to shoulder.  On the other hand, however, was duty, and duty could never be laid aside so easily.

 

Loghain didn’t understand why, but Githa’s advances grew less bold from that day at the first ruin forward. She was still a minxy little tart, but she wasn’t so aggressive anymore, and it was easier to confuse her teasing for intent.  He had to guard himself carefully against the notion that she was in any way serious.  Damn the girl, she could not understand how difficult it was for him to resist those laughing lips and deep brown eyes.  He was getting old, but he wasn’t dead yet.

 

As time went on, he began to feel paranoid. There was the sense, now and again, that he was being watched.  It wasn’t anything to do with Githa’s constant flirtation, or at least he was fairly certain it was not, and he did not think that the Duenna was involved, or any of her many female agents.  He started laying traps and ambushes whenever he went out, but it all came to nothing.  Maric looked at him as if he were crazy, and he began to wonder if Maric weren’t right.

 

“You’ve been kind of jumpy lately,” Githa told him. “What’s the matter?”

 

Maybe he should explain, but something, perhaps the fear of looking foolish, kept his mouth shut tight. He refrained from answering, and she let the subject by.

 

But there was another subject she would not let by, and he continued to suffer beneath her teasing attentions. If he turned around, he bumped into her.  If he reached out his hand for something she would reach for it too, so that their hands touched.  In all it was more physical contact than he’d experienced in all the years together since Celia died.  It was exciting, but not in a good way, not when he knew nothing would come of it.  He did not understand why she wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

And then one day, shortly after they’d exhausted the last of the Tevinter ruins and Loghain began to wonder whether he should or should not speak regarding the availability of elven blood, she cornered him at the bordello and asked him outright whether or not he was at all interested in her.

 

He stared at her, flummoxed, until it dawned on him that she was waiting for some sort of response. He gave the only one he could think of.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I feel like I’m wasting my time. Are you interested in me, or not?  Because if you aren’t and could never be, tell me, so I don’t waste any more effort and maybe go breaking my heart.”

 

“Breaking your heart?”  It still wasn’t sinking in.  He shook his head vigorously, as if to dislodge an errant thought.  “Are you saying that all this…touching…all this flirting…is _serious?”_

 

“You honestly thought it wasn’t? What sort of girl do you take me for?”

 

“I thought you were a tease.”

 

“Oh, I am. But I never tease _cruelly._ If I offered to sleep with someone and didn’t intend for them to take me up on it that would be cruel, wouldn’t it?  I don’t do cruel.  Not intentionally, at least.  I guess it _was_ cruel if that’s the way you took it.”

 

“Why would you…want to flirt with _me?”_

 

“Why wouldn’t I? Big, strong, intelligent, attractive…and sweetly bashful.  And evidently unable to see many of those qualities in yourself.”

 

“I’m a killer. You know that.”

 

“A lot of people are killers. It’s a rough world we live in.  I try not to make judgments, particularly when I don’t know the particulars.  But I know one thing: you’re a _soldier_.  That’s a dirty job, but a necessary one.”

 

“It goes a bit beyond that.”

 

“Maybe so. You’re the right-hand man of a King.  I can imagine your work gets very dirty indeed.  But whatever it is you do, I don’t think it’s what defines you.  Unless I’m wrong.  Maybe you kill for the fun of it, or the rush of power you feel when you do it.  Do you?”

 

Mutely, he shook his head.

 

“Then I’m not going to let it be what defines how I feel about you,” she said. “Maybe I’m crazy.  Maybe I should be afraid of you.  But I’m not.  So I ask you again: do you have any interest in me at all?”

 

His cheeks turned brilliant red. “You’re lovely,” he mumbled, “but I don’t know…I’m not really ready to…‘take an interest’…in a woman.”

 

“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not even going to ask you to _sleep_ with me.  Not if you’re not ready for that.  I’m just asking you to keep me in mind for when you _are_ ready.”

 

“I suppose…if you really mean it…I could do that,” he said.

 

She smiled up at him and took his hand. “Good.”


	26. Chapter 26

Maric sidled up to him and spoke indirectly to him. “You and Githa have been… _closer_ …lately.”

 

“It’s none of your business, Maric.”

 

“I saw you, holding hands,” Maric said, in a singsong voice. “You looked very cozy.”

 

“Githa is a… _warm_ …young woman.”

 

Maric’s chuckle turned into a chesty rumble of laughter. “I imagine.”

 

“That’s not what I mean.” Loghain glared at his old friend.  “Nothing has happened between us.  She understands that I’m not ready to pursue an intimate relationship at this time.”

 

“Not ready? Maker’s ass, Loghain, then _when?_ Celia’s been gone for five years.”

 

“Six,” Loghain said quietly, “come Summerday.”

 

“My point exactly,” Maric said, but he said it gently. “She’s gone, Loghain, but you’re not.  You loved her, and to some extent you always will, but you can’t mourn her forever.  You _need_ someone.”

 

“Maybe so. But I’m not ready.  Maybe…once I know Githa better…”

 

“Well, that’s more like it. _Get_ to know her better.  I think she’s a good woman.  She’d be good for you.”

 

“I’m not promising anything. To her _or_ you.”

 

“Not asking you to promise anything more than to make the attempt,” Maric said. “Don’t keep yourself closed off forever.  You alone is not a happy picture.”


	27. Chapter 27

All three elven ruins were in the middle of the same forest. They would take the time necessary to visit them all, or all the necessary ones at least, in the same expedition, which meant they had to make greater preparations.  And there was the matter of the necessity of elven blood.

 

“There are elven…ladies…here at the bordello,” Githa said. “I’m sure one of them wouldn’t cringe at selling us a little blood.  Not with everything else they’re selling.”

 

“But how much do we need? I mean, if you have to do this ritual at all three ruins, we need three samples of blood, right?” Maric said.

 

“True, and it may take more than a few drops at each ruin. Maybe we should ask one of them to come along with us.”

 

“That might be a tough sell. ‘Can we pay you to come along on a potentially dangerous journey with us so that we can prick your fingers and use your blood in a magic ritual?’”

 

“It…may not be necessary,” Loghain said after a pause. “Would _half_ -elven blood be sufficient for the purpose?”

 

“Um…yes. Yes, I think it would.  Might need a bit more of it for the ritual than if it were pure, but it should work.  But where would we get half-elven blood?  They’re not always all that easy to spot, by my understanding,” Githa said.

 

Loghain cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We’d get it…from me.”

 

They both stared at him. Then, in unison, they burst out laughing.  Affronted, he squared his shoulders.

 

“I do not see what is funny about that,” he said.

 

“It _isn’t_ funny.  It’s delightful,” Maric said, controlling himself with difficulty.  “Don’t you agree, Githa?”

 

“Oh, it is a little bit funny, too,” she said. “I mean, it’s hard to imagine someone less elven-looking.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I can kind of see it now that it’s been pointed out.  Your mother, then?  Because your father certainly wasn’t an elf.”

 

“My mother, yes. She was Dalish.  This really doesn’t bother you?”

 

“The bare fact of it? No, it doesn’t.  The fact that you came down on me for my dalliances with elven women?  Yes, it does.”

 

“I didn’t come down on you because they were elven, I came down on you because they were _Orlesian.”_

 

“Oh. Of course.  But why am I only hearing about this now?  Were you really afraid I’d…what? Be prejudiced against you for it?” Maric asked.

 

“No. Not…not really.  But my mother took great pains to ensure I was never known as a half-blood.  Keeping it a secret was rather…ingrained.  And now, of course, there’s Anora to consider.”

 

“Your daughter?” Githa asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Does she know?” Maric asked.

 

“No. And I’d prefer she did not.  And you’d better be _damned certain_ it doesn’t bother you, Maric, for she’s married to your son, now.”

 

“It doesn’t bother me. But Anora should know her heritage.  She has the right.”

 

“She can’t know her ‘heritage.’ I know nothing of it myself.  My mother lived the life of a Fereldan freeholder from before the time I was born, and never let slip so much as a word about her life as a Dalish.”

 

“She has the right to know who her grandmother was, Loghain,” Maric insisted. “What makes you who you are is a part of what makes her who _she_ is.”

 

“I’d prefer not to discuss it further. I regret having told you, but I could think of no other way to get out of having to ask some elven whore for her blood.”

 

“All right, all right, I’ll leave you alone. For now.  But you know I’m not letting this go so easily.  We’ve got our blood; what else do we need?”

 

“Assuming it’s a free forest I can hunt in, not a whole lot more,” Loghain said. “We need to check that out.  If we have to pack in a lot of food this is going to get bulky.”

 

“What, you’re going to shrink from poaching if it’s a Crown’s Preserve?” Maric said, and smiled.

 

“I’d prefer not to be arrested in Antiva. Again.”

 

“All right, fine. The Duenna will know if hunting is allowed.  I’ll ask her.”


	28. Chapter 28

It was some days later that found them on the road to the ruins. Each of them carried a pack, with camping supplies, bedrolls, and some foodstuffs.  Loghain had his bow.

 

“Are you sure you can find this place?” Githa asked.

 

“Of course Loghain can find it. He never gets lost,” Maric said.  He turned and mouthed silently to her.  “It’s the Dalish in him.”

 

“We keep heading northeast, we’ll come to it before dark,” Loghain said.

 

“How can you tell we _are_ heading northeast?” Githa asked.

 

“Years of practice.”

 

“Loghain is an expert woodsman, Githa. There’s no fear,” Maric said.  “He kept me alive all the way through the Korcari Wilds, and that is no easy feat.”

 

“Well, I have to admit, this forest makes me nervous. I feel like we’re being watched,” Githa said.

 

“That’s a common feeling in a forest. There’s always a sense of presence.”

 

Loghain had other ideas, but kept his silence.

 

“So…tell me again about this _Varterral_ thing that’s supposedly haunting these ruins?” Githa asked.

 

“It’s some sort of wood spirit,” Maric said. “According to the scholar it takes the form of a giant insect, like a stick bug or something like that.”

 

“Oh, wonderful. I love bugs,” she said, sarcastically.

 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s probably just a myth.  It’s never been seen here, only rumored.”

 

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t other dangers here,” Loghain said. “If this were Ferelden I’d know what to expect.  I am unfamiliar with the local fauna.”

 

“Looks like squirrels and chipmunks, mostly,” Maric observed.

 

“There are bears. Black bears.  And wolves.  I hope we don’t see any of them,” Githa said.

 

“We’ll be okay, bears or no bears,” Loghain said. “Wolves tend to be wary of humans, unless they’re mad.”

 

“Marvelous. So we don’t have to worry about the wolves unless they’re rabid, eh?”

 

“I said they _tend_ to be wary.  It’s not a universal truth.”

 

.   .   .

 

The first elven ruin was a dud. They found a few treasures, including a remarkably preserved suit of light armor that had to be more than a thousand years old.  They left it where it was, since they could not carry it with them, but Loghain made a note of its location.  If they got the chance, they’d tell the scholars at the museum about it.  It deserved to be put on display.  There was, however, no mirror, and nothing hidden by magical means.

 

They rested, and discussed their findings over a meal of roast rabbit. Githa sat close by Loghain’s side with her arm linked through his elbow and Maric sat across the fire and smirked at his old friend.

 

“I refuse to be self-conscious about this, Maric,” Loghain said. “You’re wasting a perfectly good facial expression.”

 

Maric laughed at him. “What treasures did you find today, Githa?” he asked.

 

“Nothing much. I found a little idol I think is cute.”  She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a small statuette, a female figure with spindly wings.  “I don’t know what it represents.  Maybe one of the Dalish gods.”

 

“The Creators,” Maric said. “It probably is.  What do you say, Loghain?”

 

“What, I admit my mother was Dalish and that automatically makes me an authority? I know nothing about elven gods, but it seems likely enough to me seeing as it was an elven ruin.  The only thing I know about the Dalish is their arrow craft.  It’s the only thing about her past my mother taught me.”

 

“That’s kind of sad.”

 

“In what way?” Loghain asked.

 

“She didn’t teach you about your ancestors. Your family.  Did you ever even meet your grandparents?”

 

“No, and not my father’s family, either. But he was about the age I am now when I was born, so they were all probably dead.”

 

“But your mother was young, right? It’s too bad that she kept you isolated from your family.”

 

“How do you know it was her idea?” Loghain asked. “The Dalish go far out of the way to avoid human kind.  My father was a _human_ man.  He loved my mother and she loved him, but I doubt that makes much difference in the way they looked at the matter.  I expect they viewed my birth with as much shame as most humans view half-bloods.  She gave up her life as a Dalish - as an _elf_ , truthfully.  Kept herself almost a _prisoner_ in our home to keep the townsfolk from finding out I wasn’t pure human.  She chose my father over her people.  I’m not naïve enough to think she wasn’t forced to make a choice.”

 

 _“That’s_ sad,” Githa said.  “Forced to choose between the family you love and the man you’d love to make a family with.”

 

“She made a lot of sacrifices for my sake. Ultimately she made the _ultimate_ sacrifice for me.”

 

“She was protecting you when she was killed,” Maric said.

 

Loghain nodded somberly.

 

“How old were you?”

 

Loghain swallowed hard. “Twelve.”

 

Githa looked from one to the other of them. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but…what happened?”

 

“The _Orlesians_ happened.  The details I’d really rather not get into,” Loghain said.

 

“You didn’t mind telling Rowan,” Maric pointed out.

 

“Rowan _deserved_ to get shocked.  Githa doesn’t.”

 

“You’ll forgive me, I’m sure…are the Orlesians really that bad?” Githa asked. “I mean, as a group.  Surely they wouldn’t _all_ …I’m assuming murder…a woman protecting her child?”

 

Maric and Loghain shared a look. “You grew up in the Circle, you don’t remember your parents or anything about the outside world,” Maric said.

 

“There may be Orlesians who wouldn’t murder a mother,” Loghain said. “I’ve never met one.  Their culture makes it acceptable for the upper classes to do anything they want to the lower classes, and I mean _anything_.  Murder, torture…rape.  They believe they’re the Chosen of the Maker, and that’s what gives them the right to behave monstrously.  And nothing is lower class, to an Orlesian, than a Fereldan freeholder.  We were less than garbage to them.”

 

“Well, their abuses created their own worst nightmare,” Maric said. “Loghain has become a bogeyman in Orlais.  Parents use stories of him to frighten their children into behaving themselves.”

 

“Whereas in Ferelden parents use the _Orlesians_ to the same end,” Loghain said.

 

“Have you ever been to Orlais?” Githa asked.

 

“Loghain won’t let me,” Maric said, “and he won’t go himself. Probably for the best.  Ferelden couldn’t afford the diplomatic catastrophe that would undoubtedly create.”

 

“You in Orlais is a man with a target painted on his head,” Loghain said. _“Me_ in Orlais is indescribable violence and death.”

 

“And he’s not talking about _his_ death _,_ either,” Maric said to Githa, with a wink.


	29. Chapter 29

They moved on to the second ruin the next day. Maric had great hopes for this ruin, which was the largest and most complete of the three.  Loghain, too, was hopeful.  He walked hand-in-hand with Githa and tried to ignore that strange back-of-the-neck feeling that they were being closely observed.

 

“If this forest weren’t so creepy, this would be nice,” Githa said.

 

“Oh, I disagree,” Maric said. “I think it _is_ nice.  Pleasant weather…love in bloom.  The definition of nice.”

 

“You’re not going to let up, are you?” Loghain said.

 

“Not when it’s so adorable. I maybe shouldn’t say it: there’s a girl in Ferelden I was thinking of for you, but hey! You found one for yourself.  Can’t argue with that.”

 

“How fortunate that I was able to forestall your pitiable attempts at matchmaking.”

 

They reached the ruin, and picked their way into the crumbling interior. Loghain cut the pad of his left thumb and Githa used the blood to perform the elven ritual that would hopefully reveal the hiding place of Maric’s mirror.

 

“There’s something here,” she said excitedly. “This way.”

 

She led the way deeper into the ruin, and stopped at intervals to perform the ritual again. They wound their way down far below the surface structure to what appeared to be a natural cavern beneath the deepest roots of the tallest trees of the forest.  A final performance of the ritual revealed it at last: a tall, graceful mirror in a gold wood frame, a mirror that did not reflect the chamber.

 

Maric started toward it. Nervous, Loghain followed.  “Don’t get too close to that damned thing, Maric.”

 

“This has been here since before the fall of the Imperium,” Maric said, enrapt. “Look at it, Loghain.  It’s absolutely pristine.”

 

“Magic does that, Maric. Magic does scarier things, too.  Don’t go near it.”

 

“Have to. I have to activate it.  For the Wilder witch.”

 

“Just wait. Let Githa check it, first.  It was hidden magically; who’s to say they didn’t booby trap it magically?”

 

“Guys?” Githa said. Her voice sounded breathless and panicked.  Loghain turned to look at her.

 

There was a wicked sharp knife at her throat. A pair of black eyes sparkled at him over her shoulder.

 

“Move, and the woman dies.”


	30. Chapter 30

Loghain held his hands up in the air, palms outward. “I know you,” he said slowly.  “You were there when we killed that prince.”

 

“And I know you, Loghain Mac Tir. It took me awhile, but I remembered.  I tried to kill you years ago.  You slaughtered my teammates.”

 

“Too bad I missed you. What do you want?”

 

“What do I want? I want to fulfill the contract on your head and become famous.  And I want that mirror.  Looks like it could be worth quite a bit of gold.  You certainly went to enough trouble to find it.  I’ve been following you for weeks.”

 

“I’ll admit it: you’re good. I knew someone was following us, but I couldn’t catch you,” Loghain said.  “It would seem you’ve got the upper hand, Ser.  Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.  Just please don’t hurt the girl.”

 

“Take off your weapons and throw them to the side.”

 

Loghain removed his sword and shield and tossed them aside, then did the same with his belt knife and boot knives. “All right.  I’m unarmed.”

 

“Good. Now your friend.  Take off your weapons and toss them to the side.”

 

Maric did as bidden.

 

“Now both of you, lie down on the ground with your hands over your heads.”

 

Both Loghain and Maric lay down on their stomachs. “All right.  You’ve got me now; let the others go,” Loghain said.

 

“Of course. But carefully.  Don’t anybody move.”  The Crow walked Githa up until they were alongside where Loghain lay.  He chuckled grimly.  “Nothing personal, my darling.  It is simply wisest to kill the mages first.”

 

He slit Githa’s throat. She fell beside Loghain in a bloody heap.  The Crow dived down and thrust his dagger into Loghain’s back in almost the same movement.  But even as he did that, Loghain rose to meet the blade, with a roar of pure animal rage.  He paid no heed to the dagger in his back, and grabbed the assassin by the throat.  He snapped the man’s head around, and broke his neck.  The Crow fell bonelessly.

 

“Githa. _Githa!”_

 

He picked her up. Her dark brown eyes gazed back at him sightlessly.  He wept over her body.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.  Please, forgive me.”

 

“Loghain.” It was Maric.  His voice was urgent.  “Loghain, you have a knife in your back.”

 

“Leave me alone, Maric,” he burst out.

 

“You need healing. Hold still, I’m just going to…”  He yanked the blade out of Loghain’s back, pulled a poultice out of his pack and pressed it hard to the gushing wound.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about Githa, Loghain.  I’m sorry.”

 

Loghain wept and rocked Githa’s lifeless body back and forth in his arms while Maric frantically tried to heal his wound.

 

Maric wiped the sweat from his brow. “That was close.  I thought you were a goner there for a minute.  It’s knitting.”

 

There was a strange sound from the back of the cavern, a sort of stony squall. Maric looked up, then he stood.  He backed away to where his sword lay and grabbed it.

 

“Er, Loghain? I know you must be feeling very sad now, and probably quite angry as well, and I’d appreciate it very much if you’d expend some of the violence of your feelings against this…thing…that’s approaching.  It has…legs.”

 

Loghain looked up. Through his tears he saw a strange, sticklike creature, larger than a cart horse, approaching cautiously on six spindly legs.  He lowered Githa’s body to the ground and rolled to grab his sword and shield.

 

The creature attacked, running forward on its long spindle legs. Loghain launched himself at one of them and held on tight.  The creature tried to shake him off, which gave Maric time to run underneath and stab at the creature’s body.  Its hide was tough as stone.

 

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to kill this thing, Loghain!” Maric shouted as his blade clanged of the monster’s body.

 

“The fuck we’re not!” Loghain said, and carefully began to climb up the varterral’s leg. It was hard going, like climbing a moving tree, but he worked his way up a few inches at a time until he was able to climb onto the creature’s back.  “Aim for the neck, Maric.  The neck!”

 

“Oh, I see what you’re up to,” Maric said, and began slashing at the thin join between the creature’s head and body. Once both of them began furiously hacking away at that small space, it was only a matter of effort before the varterral’s head came bouncing off.  It was difficult, and Maric got badly stomped several times, but eventually the creature fell, headless.

 

“Ouch,” Maric said, when it was over. He checked his bruises gingerly.  “Well, I guess I’ll live, though it doesn’t feel much like it at the moment.”

 

“I am so pleased to hear that, Maric,” Loghain said. Maric looked at him, for the words were sarcastic, but Loghain wasn’t looking at him.  His eyes were riveted on the bloodied form of Githa.

 

“I’m sorry, Loghain. I wished for better, for both of you.”

 

“Well it doesn’t get much worse, does it? Not for Githa, at any rate.”

 

“I don’t know what comes next, if anything, but I’m sure that wherever she is now, there’s no templars. She’s free.”

 

“She’s _dead,_ Maric.”

 

Maric shuffled on the spot for a few moments, and then sighed. “I’m sorry.  It may seem callous, but I’ve still got a job to finish,” he said.  He walked up to the mirror, cut his thumb, and smeared his blood on the glass at the four corners.  There was a humming sound, and then a purple glow suffused the glass.  Loghain watched warily.

 

“I see something,” Maric said. “It’s…a green place with trees, and I see buildings - people.  Elves, I think.  How strange.”

 

He reached out to touch the glass. “Maric, don’t,” Loghain shouted, but too late.  When his hand touched the cool surface it went right through it, and the rest of him followed right after.  The purple glow faded.  Maric was gone.

 

Loghain ran to the mirror. It reflected nothing, as before.  “Give him back, gods damn you!” he shouted, and raised his fist to smash the glass.

 

“If you break it, you’ll never see him again,” a voice said. He spun and saw the marsh witch, big as life, standing at the entrance to the cavern.

 

“Well, you get around, don’t you?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

 

“That is my business,” the witch said. “My business is complete, now, so if you are set on it by all means, go ahead and destroy the mirror.  It is of no further use to me now.  I’ve gotten what I came for.  I’m just letting you know the consequences of such action.  With no mirror, there’s no way for your friend to return to this place, if he is ever able.”

 

“So that was what you were after? Sending Maric off to Maker knows where, a place from which there is no return? _Is it?”_

 

“No, I was only after the power the mirror expels when it is activated. I never told your friend to touch the damned thing; what happened here was his doing entirely.  Though not, I confess, entirely unexpected.  He is so very impulsive, after all.”

 

Loghain fell to his knees. “He’s dead, isn’t he?  I’ll never see him again.”

 

“The world he is in now is a strange and dangerous place, but no more so than Thedas. Still, I should think it unlikely that he’ll survive.  Without you and without me to protect him, he is quite vulnerable.  One might almost say foolhardy.  And the way back is more difficult than the way forward, as is often the case.”

 

“He’s gone. I’ve failed him.  I failed everyone.”  Loghain reached for his belt knife and held it to his throat.

 

“You’re not going to do it,” the witch said, derisively.

 

“Why shouldn’t I? There’s nothing left.”

 

“Because if you do, who will bury your woman?” the witch said, and this time her voice was almost gentle. “You might not mind rotting in some underground cavern, but she deserves better, doesn’t she?”

 

He dropped the knife. “You’re right.”

 

“And after that you will find other reasons to go on. After all, with Maric gone, that idiot son of his is King, isn’t he?  Your daughter may not be enough on her own to keep him from destroying everything you hold dear.  He has some fanciful ideas, doesn’t he?  Like the idea that _Ferelden_ and _Orlais_ can join hands as brothers.”

 

She watched his shoulders tense with agitation and smiled thinly. “Remember that rage is a terrible thing: sometimes it burns so hot it destroys what we love the most.  Life has never been easy for you, and it gets no easier.  You have my pity, Loghain Mac Tir.  I know such is worth little to you, but take it, along with my sympathy. _Ha ha ha.”_

 

When he looked up next, the witch was gone. He sat where he was for a long time after, and stared at his hands in his lap.  Then he climbed to his feet, gathered Githa’s body in his arms, and carried her out of the ruin to the bright sunshine outside.  He found a quiet spot, took the camp shovel, and dug her a grave.  He would not take her back to the city and hand her over to the Chantry to be disposed of in the manner deemed “appropriate” for mages, which was probably something on the order of being dumped in the river.

 

When the hole was shoulder deep he climbed out and wrapped her body in the canvas of the tent. He held her hands one last time before folding them away forever in the fabric, and kissed her cold lips.

 

“I’m so sorry, my dear.”

 

He buried her in the earth and found a young sapling. He carefully dug out the roots and transplanted it on the grave, and watered it with a few more tears as he knelt to kiss the freshly-tilled earth where she lay.  He would have to go back to the city soon, and wait for the ship to come back on its regular rounds so it could take him home again, and he would have to wake up each morning and trudge through every day somehow, and live with his failure.


End file.
